THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE     ATLANTIC     MONTHLY    LIBRARY 
OF   TRAVEL 

V 
ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

BY 
WILLIAM   DEAN   HOWELLS 


•••»<•>    '.'jlf^.'1 
,.        •       •  •    '     ' 

.         v    '  < 
1 

B-i.1      .  llLl 


SORRENTO,  THE  HARBOR 


THE   ATLANTIC   MONTHLY 


LIBRARY  OF  TRAVEL 


VOLUME  FIVE 


ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 


BY 

W.  D.  HOWELLS 

WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS 

BY   JOSEPH    PENNELL 


BOSTON   AND   NEW   YORK 

HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN   &   COMPANY 

THE   RIVERSIDE   PRESS 

CAMBRIDGE 

1907 


COPYRIGHT    1867   AND    1895    BY    w-   D-    HOWELLS 

COPYRIGHT    1901    BY    W.   D.    HOWELLS   AND  HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN    &   CO. 
ALL    RIGHTS   RESERVED 


A  CONFIDENCE 

WHEN  the  publishers  suggested  the  notion 
of  revising  this  book,  and  taming  its  wild 
youthfulness  here  and  there,  making  it  a  little  more 
just,  if  not  a  little  wiser,  and  possibly  shedding  upon 
the  belated  text  some  light  from  the  events  occur 
ring  since  it  was  written  well-nigh  forty  years  ago,  I 
promptly  refused.  I  also  promptly  refused  to  write 
any  sort  of  introduction  for  this  new  edition ;  and 
as  I  presently  did  revise  the  book,  I  am  not  now 
surprised  to  find  myself  addressing  these  prefatory 
lines  to  an  imaginable  reader. 

They  are  mainly  to  tell  him  of  my  odd  experi 
ence  in  going  over  my  work,  which  at  times  moved 
me  to  doubt  not  only  of  the  perfection  of  my  taste, 
the  accuracy  of  my  knowledge,  and  the  infallibility 
of  my  judgment,  but  the  sincerity  of  my  feelings 
and  the  veracity  of  my  statements.  From  time  to 
time  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  aware  of  posing, 
of  straining,  even,  in  some  of  my  attitudes,  and  I 
had  a  sense  of  having  put  on  more  airs  than  I  could 
handsomely  carry,  and  of  having  at  other  times  as 
sumed  an  omniscience  for  which  I  can  now  find  no 


4S9056 


vi  A   CONFIDENCE 

reasonable  grounds.  There  were  moments  when  I 
thought  I  had  indulged  unseemly  spites  and  resent 
ments  towards  nationalities  that  had  never  injured 
me,  and  yet  blacker  moments  when  I  fancied  I  had 
pretended  to  feel  these,  but  when  in  fact  I  was  at 
heart  most  amiably  affected  toward  all  alien  peoples. 

So  exacting  is  one  at  sixty-four,  that  I  fell  upon 
these  faults  and  pruned  them  away  with  a  free 
hand ;  and  though  I  cannot  hope  to  have  removed 
them  all,  I  can  now  honestly  commend  the  book  as 
much  worthier  credence  than  it  was  before.  As  for 
bringing  it  up  to  date,  there  I  own  that  even  my 
age  has  been  powerless.  My  Italy  was  the  Italy  of 
the  time  when  the  Austrians  seemed  permanent  in 
Lombardy  and  Venetia,  and  when  the  French  gar 
rison  was  apparently  established  indefinitely  at 
Rome  ;  when  Napoleon  III.  was  emperor,  and  Pio 
Nono  was  pope,  and  the  first  Victor  Emanuel  was 
king,  and  Garibaldi  was  liberator,  and  Francis 
Joseph  was  kaiser.  Of  these  the  last  alone  remains 
to  attest  the  past,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  as  far  as 
my  poor  word  can  go,  it  ought  to  be  left  to  corrobo 
rate  the  reality  of  his  witness,  with  no  hint  of  change 
in  conditions  which  are  already  sufficiently  incredi 
ble. 

W.  D.  HOWELLS. 

August  28,  1901. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE   ROAD   TO    ROME   FROM   VENICE  : 

I.    LEAVING  VENICE 3 

II.    FROM    PADUA  TO  FERRARA 5 

III.  THE  PICTURESQUE,  THE   IMPROBABLE,  AND   THE 

PATHETIC   IN  FERRARA 9 

IV.  THROUGH  BOLOGNA   TO    GENOA 38 

V.     UP   AND  DOWN   GENOA 45 

VI.    BY   SEA   FROM   GENOA   TO   NAPLES 57 

VII.    CERTAIN   THINGS   IN   NAPLES 65 

VIII.    A   DAY   IN   POMPEII 78 

IX.     A    HALF-HOUR 'AT    HERCULANEUM 95 

X.    CAPRI   AND    CAPRIOTES 105 

XL    BETWEEN   ROME   AND   NAPLES 124 

XII.    ROMAN   PEARLS 128 

FORZA   MAGGIORE 153 

AT   PADUA 173 

A    PILGRIMAGE   TO   PETRARCH'S    HOUSE   AT   ARQUA       .  195 

A   VISIT   TO   THE  CIMBRI 215 

MINOR   TRAVELS : 

I.    PISA 235 

II.    TRIESTE 242 

III.     BASSANO 252 

iv.   POSSAGNO,  CANOVA'S  BIRTHPLACE 258 

v.   COMO 264 

STOPPING   AT   VINCENZA,   VERONA,    AND   PARMA       .      .  271 

DUCAL  MANTUA 3<3I 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


PACK 


Sorrento,  the  Harbor Frontispiece 

Venice 3 

The  Ferrara  Road 5 

The  Cathedral,  Ferrara 9 

Ferrara,  a  Courtyard 18 

The  Castle,  Ferrara 28 

The  Piazza,  Bologna 38 

The  Great  Fountain,  Bologna 40 

The  Cathedral,  Genoa 45 

Genoa,  a  City  of  Palaces 48 

The  Harbor,  Genoa 57 

Naples,  the  Harbor 62 

The  Fountain  of  Ferdinand,  Naples 65 

Naples,  Street  with  Steps 68 

The  Grotto  of  Posilippo 72 

The  Theatre,  Pompeii 78 

The  Sea  Gate  of  Pompeii 80 

Pompeii,  the  Avenue  of  Tombs 86 

Pompeii,  a  Tomb 90 

The  House  of  Argo,  Herculaneum 95 

Herculaneum 100 

Capri 105 

The  Gate  of  Capri 108 

Capri,  the  Palace  of  Tiberius  from  the  Harbor  .  .  .  1 16 

The  Piazza,  Capri 120 

The  House  of  Tasso,  Sorrento 122 

A  Baker's  Shop,  Naples 124 

Monte  Cassino 126 

New  Rome  on  the  Tiber 128 

The  Forum,  Rome 130 


x         LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 

Aqueduct  on  the  Ca»if>ugiiij 134 

The  Corso,  Rome 138 

The  Tarpeian  Rock,  Rome 140 

The  Capitol,  Rome 144 

The  Piazza  Colon n a,  Rome 148 

The  Cathedral,  Grossetto 155 

Civita  Vecchia,  the  Harbor 160 

The  Sea  Gat?,  Cii>ita  Vecchia 164 

The  Harbor  of  Alexander,  Civita  Vecchia 170 

On  the  River,  Padua 175 

Padua,  Street  with  Arcades 176 

Flower  Market,  Padua  . 180 

Corner  of  the  Salone,  Padua 184 

Clock  Tower,  Padua 190 

The  Tomb  of  Petrarch,  Arqua 197 

The  Castle  of  the  Obizzi 212 

The  Bridge,  Bassano 217 

The  Brenta  at  Bassano 218 

The  Arno,  Pisa  .  .  .• 235 

Pisa,  the  Four  Fabrics 236 

Pisa,  the  Embankment 240 

A  Street  in  Trieste 242 

Approaching  Venice 244 

The  Grand  Canal,  Trieste 246 

Trieste,  the  Harbor 250 

Vicenza 252 

Bassano,  The  Piazza 254 

Possagno 258 

Como 264 

A  Little  Harbor,  Como 266 

The  Arena,  Verona 273 

Vicenza,  a  Palladian  Corner 274 

Vicenza,  Venetian  Gothic  Buildings 276 

The  Market,  Vicenza 280 

The  Tombs,  Verona 288 

Doorway  of  the  Duomo,  Verona 290 

Nave  of  the  Cathedral,  Parma 294 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS  xi 

Parma,  Baptistery  and  Campanile 296 

Mantua 303 

Clock  Tower,  Mantua 310 

A  Street  in  Mantua 320 


THE    ROAD   TO   ROME 


I.     LEAVING   VENICE 

WE  did  not  know,  when  we  started  from 
home  in  Venice,  on  the  8th  of  November, 
1864,  that  we  had  taken  the  longest  road  to  Rome. 
We  thought  that  of  all  the  proverbial  paths  to  the 
Eternal  City  that  leading  to  Padua,  and  thence 
through  Ferrara  and  Bologna  to  Florence,  and  so 
down  the  seashore  from  Leghorn  to  Civita  Vecchia, 
was  the  best,  the  briefest,  and  the  cheapest.  Who 
could  have  dreamed  that  this  path,  so  wisely  and 
carefully  chosen,  would  lead  us  to  Genoa,  conduct 
us  on  shipboard,  toss  u,s  four  dizzy  days  and  nights, 
and  set  us  down,  void,  battered,  and  bewildered,  in 
Naples  ?  Luckily, 

"  The  moving  accident  is  not  my  trade," 


4  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

for  there  are  events  of  this  journey  (now  happily  at 
an  end)  which,  if  I  recounted  them  with  unsparing 
sincerity,  would  forever  deter  the  reader  from  taking 
any  road  to  Rome. 

Though,  indeed,  what  is  Rome,  after  all,  when 
you  come  to  it  ? 


II.     FROM    PADUA   TO    FERRARA 

AS  far  as  to  Ferrara  there  was  no  sign  of  devi 
ation  from  the  direct  line  in  our  road,  and  the 
company  was  well  enough.  We  had  a  Swiss  family 
in  the  car  with  us  to  Padua,  and  they  told  us  how 
they  were  going  home  to  their  mountains  from 
Russia,  where  they  had  spent  nineteen  years  of 
their  lives.  They  were  mother  and  father  and  only 
daughter ;  and  the  last,  without  ever  having  seen 
her  ancestral  country,  was  so  Swiss  in  her  yet 
childish  beauty,  that  she  filled  the  morning  twilight 
with  vague  images  of  glacial  height,  blue  lake,  snug 
chalet,  and  whatever  else  of  picturesque  there  is  in 
paint  and  print  about  Switzerland.  Of  course,  as 
the  light  grew  brighter  these  images  melted  away, 
and  left  only  a  little  frost  upon  the  window-pane. 


6  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

The  mother  was  restively  anxious  at  ne.iring  her 
country,  and  told  us  everything  of  its  loveliness 
and  happiness.  Nineteen  years  of  absence  had  not 
robbed  it  of  the  poorest  charm,  and  I  hope  that  see 
ing  it  again  took  nothing  from  it.  We  said  how  glad 
we  should  be  if  we  were  as  near  America  as  she  was 
to  Switzerland.  "America!"  she  screamed;  "you 
come  from  America  !  Dear  God,  the  world  is  wide 
—  the  world  is  wide  !  "  The  thought  was  so  para 
lyzing  that  it  silenced  'the  fat  little  lady  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  gave  her  husband  time  to  express  his 
sympathy  with  us  in  our  war,  which  he  understood 
perfectly  well.  He  trusted  that  the  revolution  to 
perpetuate  slavery  must  fail,  and  he  hoped  that  the 
war  would  soon  end,  for  it  made  cotton  very  dear. 

Europe  is  material :  I  doubt  if,  after  Victor 
Hugo  and  Garibaldi,  there  were  many  upon  that 
continent  whose  enthusiasm  for  American  unity 
(which  is  European  freedom)  was  not  somewhat 
chilled  by  the  expensiveness  of  cotton.  The  fab 
rics  were  all  doubled  in  price,  and  every  man  in 
Europe  paid  tribute  in  hard  money  to  the  devotion 
with  which  we  prosecuted  the  war,  and,  inciden 
tally,  interrupted  the  cultivation  of  cotton. 

We  shook  hands  with  our  friends,  and  dismounted 
at  Padua,  where  we  were  to  take  the  diligence  for 
the  Po.  In  the  diligence  their  loss  was  more  than 
made  good  by  the  company  of  the  only  honest  man 
in  Italy.  Of  course  this  honest  man  had  been  a 
great  sufferer  from  his  own  countrymen,  and  I 
wish  that  all  English  and  American  tourists,  who 


FROM   PADUA   TO   FERRARA      7 

think  themselves  the  sole  victims  of  publican 
rapacity  and  deceit  in  Italy,  could  have  heard  our 
honest  man's  talk.  The  truth  is,  these  ingenious 
people  prey  upon  their  own  kind  with  an  avidity 
quite  as  keen  as  that  with  which  they  devour  stran 
gers  ;  and  I  am  half  persuaded  that  a  ready-witted 
foreigner  fares  better  among  them  than  a  traveler 
of  their  own  nation.  Italians  will  always  pretend, 
on  any  occasion,  that  you  have  been  plundered 
much  worse  than  they  ;  but  the  reverse  often  hap 
pens.  They  give  little  in  fees  ;  but  their  landlord, 
their  porter,  their  driver,  and  their  boatman  pil 
lage  them  with  the  same  impunity  that  they  rob  an 
Inglese.  As  for  this  honest  man  in  the  diligence, 
he  had  suffered  such  enormities  at  the  hands  of  the 
Paduans,  from  which  we  had  just  escaped,  and  at 
the  hands  of  the  Ferrarese,  into  which  we  were 
rushing  (at  the  rate  of  five  miles  scant  an  hour), 
that  I  was  almost  minded  to  stop  between  the  nests 
of  those  brigands  and  pass  the  rest  of  my  days  at 
Rovigo,  where  the  honest  man  lived.  His  talk  was 
amusingly  instructive,  and  went  to  illustrate  the 
strong  municipal  spirit  which  still  dominates  all 
Italy,  and  which  is  more  inimical  to  an  effectual 
unity  among  Italians  than  Pope  or  Kaiser  has  ever 
been.  Our  honest  man  of  Rovigo  was  a  foreigner 
at  Padua,  twenty-five  miles  north,  and  a  foreigner 
at  Ferrara,  twenty-five  miles  south  ;  and  through 
out  Italy  the  native  of  one  city  is  an  alien  in  an 
other,  and  is  as  lawful  prey  as  a  Russian  or  an 
American  with  people  who  consider  every  stranger 


8  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

as  sent  them  by  the  bounty  of  Providence  to  be 
eaten  alive.  Heaven  knows  what  our  honest  man 
had  paid  at  his  hotel  in  Padua,  but  in  Ferrara  the 
other  week  he  had  been  made  to  give  five  francs 
apiece  for  two  small  roast  chickens,  besides  a  fee  to 
the  waiter  ;  and  he  pathetically  warned  us  to  beware 
how  we  dealt  with  Italians.  Indeed,  I  never  met  a 
man  so  thoroughly  persuaded  of  the  rascality  of  his 
nation  and  of  his  own  exceptional  virtue.  He  took 
snuff  with  his  whole  person  ;  and  he  volunteered, 
at  sight  of  a  flock  of  geese,  a  recipe  which  I  give 
the  reader:  stuff  a  goose  with  sausage;  let  it  hang 
in  the  weather  during  the  winter;  and  in  the  spring 
cut  it  up  and  stew  it,  and  you  have  an  excellent 
and  delicate  soup. 

But  after  all,  our  friend's  talk,  though  constant, 
became  dispiriting,  and  we  were  willing  when  he  left 
us.  His  integrity  had,  indeed,  been  so  oppressive 
that  I  was  glad  to  be  swindled  in  the  charge  for  our 
dinner  at  the  Iron  Crown,  in  Rovigo,  and  rode  more 
cheerfully  on  to  Ferrara. 


"5?l'Br%*i'i '•«->•«       »1« 

P'^Rra    « 

&ftw  W'g^V-AL       A 

liiiJi 


III.  THE  PICTURESQUE,  THE  IMPROBABLE, 
AND  THE  PATHETIC  IN  FERRARA 


IT  was  one  of  the  fatalities  of  travel,  rather  than 
any  real  interest  in  the  poet,  which  led  me  to 
visit  the  prison  of  Tasso  on  the  night  of  our  arrival, 
which  was  mild  and  moonlit.  The  portier  at  the 
Stella  d'Oro  suggested  the  sentimental  homage  to 
sorrows  which  it  is  sometimes  difficult  to  respect, 
and  I  went  and  paid  this  homage  in  the  coal-cellar 
in  which  was  never  imprisoned  the  poet  whose 
works  I  had  not  read. 

The  famous  hospital  of  St.  Anna,  where  Tasso 
was  confined  for  seven  years,  is  still  an  asylum  for 
the  infirm  and  sick,  but  it  is  no  longer  used  as  a 
mad-house.  It  stands  on  one  of  the  long,  silent 
Ferrarese  streets,  not  far  from  the  Ducal  Castle,  and 


io  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

it  is  said  that  from  the  window  of  his  cell  the  un 
happy  poet  could  behold  Leonora  in  her  tower.  It 
may  be  so  ;  certainly  those  who  can  believe  in  the 
genuineness  of  the  cell  will  have  no  trouble  in  be 
lieving  that  the  vision  of  Tasso  could  pierce  through 
several  brick  walls  and  a  Doric  portico,  and  at  last 
comprehend  the  lady  at  her  casement  in  the  castle. 
We  entered  a  modern  gateway,  and  passed  into  a 
hall  of  the  elder  edifice,  where  a  slim  young  soldier 
sat  reading  a  romance  of  Dumas.  This  was  the 
keeper  of  Tasso's  prison  ;  and  knowing  me,  by  the 
instinct  which  teaches  an  Italian  custodian  to  dis 
tinguish  his  prey,  for  a  seeker  after  the  True  and 
Beautiful,  he  relinquished  his  romance,  lighted  a 
waxen  taper,  unbolted  a  heavy  door  with'  a  dramatic 
clang,  and  preceded  me  to  the  cell  of  Tasso.  We 
descended  a  little  stairway,  and  found  ourselves  in  a 
sufficiently  spacious  court,  which  was  still  ampler  in 
the  poet's  time,  and  was  then  a  garden  planted  with 
trees  and  flowers.  On  a  low  doorway  to  the  right 
was  inscribed  the  legend  "  PRIGIONE  DI  TASSO," 
and  passing  through  this  doorway  into  a  kind  of 
reception-cell,  we  entered  the  poet's  dungeon..  It 
is  an  oblong  room,  with  a  low  wagon-roof  ceiling, 
under  which  it  is  barely  possible  to  stand  upright. 
A  single  narrow  window  admits  the  light,  and  the 
stone  casing  of  this  window  has  a  hollow  in  a  certain 
place,  which  might  well  have  been  worn  there  by  the 
friction  of  the  hand  that  for  seven  years  passed  the 
prisoner  his  food  through  the  small  opening.  The 
young  custodian  pointed  to  this  memento  of  suffer- 


IN    FERRARA  II 

ing,  without  effusion,  and  he  drew  my  attention  to 
other  remarkable  things  in  the  cell,  without  troubling 
himself  to  palliate  their  improbability  in  the  least. 
They  were  his  stock  in  trade  ;  you  paid  your  money, 
and  took  your  choice  of  believing  in  them  or  not. 
On  the  other  hand,  my  portier,  an  ex-valet  de  place, 
pumped  a  softly  murmuring  stream  of  enthusiasm, 
and  expressed  the  freshest  delight  in  the  inspection 
of  each  object  of  interest. 

One  still  faintly  discerns  among  the  vast  number 
of  names  with  which  the  walls  of  the  ante-cell  are 
be-written,  that  of  Lamartine.  The  name  of  Byron, 
which  was  once  deeply  graven  in  the  stucco,  had 
been  scooped  away  by  the  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany 
(so  the  custodian  said),  and  there  is  only  part  of  a 
capital  B  now  visible.  But  the  cell  itself  is  still 
fragrant  of  associations  with  the  noble  bard,  who, 
according  to  the  story  related  to  Valery,  caused  him 
self  to  be  locked  up  in  it,  and  there,  with  his  head 
fallen  upon  his  breast,  and  frequently  smiting  his 
brow,  spent  two  hours  in  pacing  the  floor  with  great 
strides.  It  is  a  touching  picture  ;  but  its  pathos 
becomes  somewhat  embarrassing  when  you  enter 
the  cell,  and  see  the  impossibility  of  taking  more 
than  three  generous  paces  without  turning.  When 
Byron  issued  forth,  after  this  exercise,  he  said  (still 
according  to  Valery)  to  the  custodian  :  "  I  thank 
thee,  good  man  !  The  thoughts  of  Tasso  are  now 
all  in  my  mind  and  heart."  "A  short  time  after 
his  departure  from  Ferrara,"  adds  the  Frenchman, 
maliciously,  "  he  composed  his  '  Lament  of  Tasso,' 


12  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

a  mediocre  result  from  such  inspiration."  No  doubt 
all  this  is  colored,  for  the  same  author  adds  another 
tint  to  heighten  the  absurdity  of  the  spectacle  :  he 
declares  that  Byron  spent  part  of  his  time  in  the 
cell  in  writing  upon  the  ceiling  Lamartine's  verses 
on  Tasso,  which  he  misspelled.  The  present  visitor 
has  no  means  of  judging  of  the  truth  concerning 
this,  for  the  lines  of  the  poet  have  been  so  smoked 
by  the  candles  of  successive  pilgrims  in  their  efforts 
to  get  light  on  them,  that  they  are  now  utterly 
illegible.  But  if  it  is  uncertain  what  were  Byron's 
emotions  on  visiting  the  prison  of  Tasso,  there  is  no 
doubt  about  Lady  Morgan's  :  she  "  experienced  a 
suffocating  emotion  ;  her  heart  failed  her  on  enter 
ing  that  cell ;  and  she  satisfied  a  melancholy  curi 
osity  at  the  cost  of  a  most  painful  sensation." 

I  find  this  amusing  fact  stated  in  a  translation  of 
her  ladyship's  own  language,  in  a  clever  guide-book 
called  "II  Servitore  di  Piazza,"  which  I  bought  at 
Ferrara,  and  from  which,  I  confess,  I  have  learnt  all 
I  know  to  confirm  me  in  my  doubt  of  Tasso's  prison. 
The  Count  Avventi,  who  writes  this  book,  prefaces 
it  by  saying  that  he  is  a  valet  de  place  who  knows 
how  to  read  and  write,  and  he  employs  these  unusual 
gifts  with  singular  candor  and  clearness.  No  one,  he 
says,  before  the  nineteenth  century,  ever  dreamed  of 
calling  the  cellar  in  question  Tasso's  prison,  and  it 
was  never  before  that  time  made  the  shrine  of  sen 
timental  pilgrimage,  though  it  has  since  been  visited 
by  every  traveler  who  has  passed  through  Ferrara. 
It  was  used  during  the  poet's  time  to  hold  charcoal 


IN   FERRARA  13 

and  lime ;  and  not  long  ago  died  an  old  servant  of 
the  hospital,  who  remembered  its  use  for  that  pur 
pose.  It  is  damp,  close,  and  dark,  and  Count  Av- 
venti  thinks  it  hardly  possible  that  a  delicate  courtier 
could  have  lived  seven  years  in  a  place  unwholesome 
enough  to  kill  a  stout  laborer  in  two  months  ;  while 
it  seems  to  him  not  probable  that  Tasso  should  have 
received  there  the  visits  of  princes  and  other  dis 
tinguished  persons  whom  Duke  Alfonso  allowed  to 
see  him,  or  that  a  prisoner  who  was  often  permitted 
to  ride  about  the  city  in  a  carriage  should  have  been 
thrust  back  into  such  a  cavern  on  his  return  to  the 
hospital.  "  After  this,"  says  our  -valet  de place  who 
knows  how  to  read  and  write,  "  visit  the  prison  of 
Tasso,  certain  that  in  the  hospital  of  St.  Anna  that 
great  man  was  confined  for  many  years  ; "  and, 
with  this  chilly  warning,  leaves  his  reader  to  his 
emotions. 

I  am  afraid  that  if  as  frank  caution  were  uttered 
in  regard  to  other  memorable  places,  the  objects  of 
interest  in  Italy  would  dwindle  sadly  in  number,  and 
the  -valets  de  place,  whether  they  know  how  to  read 
and  write  or  not,  would  be  starved  to  death.  Even 
the  learning  of  Italy  is  poetic  ;  and  an  Italian  would 
rather  enjoy  a  fiction  than  know  a  fact  —  in  which 
preference  I  am  not  ready  to  pronounce  him  unwise. 
But  this  characteristic  of  his  embroiders  the  stran 
ger's  progress  throughout  the  whole  land  with  fan 
ciful  improbabilities  ;  so  that  if  one  use  his  eyes 
half  as  much  as  his  wonder,  he  must  see  how  much 
better  it  would  have  been  to  visit,  in  fancy,  scenes 


I4  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

that  have  an  interest  so  largely  imaginary.  The 
utmost  he  can  make  out  of  the  most  famous  place 
is,  that  it  is  possibly  what  it  is  said  to  be,  and  is 
more  probably  as  near  that  as  anything  local  enter 
prise  could  furnish.  He  visits  the  very  cell  in 
which  Tasso  was  confined,  and  has  the  satisfaction 
of  knowing  that  it  was  the  charcoal-cellar  of  the  hos 
pital  in  which  the  poet  dwelt.  And  the  genius  loci 
—  where  is  that?  Away  in  the  American  woods, 
very  likely,  whispering  some  dreamy,  credulous 
youth,  —  telling  him  charming  fables  of  its  locus, 
and  proposing  to  itself  to  abandon  him  as  soon  as 
he  sets  foot  upon  its  native  ground.  You  see, 
though  I  cared  little  about  Tasso,  and  nothing 
about  his  prison,  I  was  heavily  disappointed  in  not 
being  able  to  believe  in  it,  and  felt  somehow  that  I 
had  been  awakened  from  a  cherished  dream. 

ii 

BUT  I  have  no  right  to  cast  the  unbroken  shadow 
of  my  skepticism  upon  the  reader,  and  so  I  tell  him 
a  story  about  Ferrara  which  I  actually  believe.  He 
must  know  that  in  Ferrara  the  streets  are  marvel- 
ously  long  and  straight.  On  the  corners  formed  by 
the  crossing  of  two  of  the  longest  and  straightest 
of  these  streets  stand  four  palaces,  in  only  one  of 
which  we  have  a  present  interest.  This  palace  my 
guide  took  me  to  see,  after  our  visit  to  TasscTs 
prison,  and,  standing  in  its  shadow,  he  related  to  me 
the  occurrence  which  has  given  it  a  sad  celebrity. 
It  was,  in  the  time  of  the  gifted  toxicologist,  the 


IN    FERRARA  15 

residence  of  Lucrezia  Borgia,  who  used  to  make 
poisonous  little  suppers  there,  and  ask  the  best 
families  of  Italy  to  partake  of  them.  It  happened 
on  one  occasion  that  Lucrezia  Borgia  was  thrust  out 
of  a  ball-room  at  Venice  as  a  disreputable  character, 
and  treated  with  peculiar  indignity.  She  deter 
mined  to  make  the  Venetians  repent  their  unwonted 
accession  of  virtue,  and  she  therefore  allowed  the 
occurrence  to  be  forgotten  till  the  proper  moment 
of  her  revenge  arrived,  when  she  gave  a  supper,  and 
invited  to  her  board  eighteen  young  and  handsome 
Venetian  nobles.  Upon  the  preparation  of  this  re 
past  she  bestowed  all  the  resources  of  her  exquisite 
knowledge ;  and  the  result  was  the  Venetians  were 
so  felicitously  poisoned  that  they  had  just  time  to 
listen  to  a  speech  from  the  charming  and  ingenious 
lady  of  the  house  before  expiring.  In  this  address 
she  reminded  her  guests  of  the  occurrence  in  the 
Venetian  ball-room,  and  perhaps  exulted  a  little 
tediously  in  her  present  vengeance.  She  was  sur 
prised  and  pained  when  one  of  the  guests  inter 
rupted  her,  and,  justifying  the  treatment  she  had 
received  at  Venice,  declared  himself  her  natural 
son.  The  lady  instantly  recognized  him,  and  in  the 
sudden  revulsion  of  maternal  feeling,  begged  him 
to  take  an  antidote.  This  he  not  only  refused  to 
do,  but  continued  his  dying  reproaches,  till  his  mo 
ther,  losing  her  self-command,  drew  her  poniard  and 
plunged  it  into  his  heart. 

The  blood  of  her  son  fell  upon  the  table-cloth, 
and  this  being  hung  out  of  the  window  to  dry,  the 


16  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

wall  received  a  stain,  which  neither  the  sun  nor  rain 
of  centuries  sufficed  to  efface,  and  which  was  only 
removed  with  the  masonry,  when  it  became  neces 
sary  to  restore  the  wall  under  that  window,  a  few 
months  before  the  time  of  my  visit  to  Ferrara.  Ac 
cordingly,  the  blood-stain  has  now  disappeared  ;  but 
the  conscientious  artist  who  painted  the  new  wall 
has  faithfully  restored  the  tragic  spot,  by  bestowing 
upon  the  stucco  a  bloody  dash  of  Venetian  red. 

in 

IT  would  be  pleasant  and  merciful,  I  think,  if  old 
towns,  after  having  served  a  certain  number  of  cen 
turies  for  the  use  and  pride  of  men,  could  be  released 
to  a  gentle,  unmolested  decay.  I,  for  my  part,  would 
like  to  have  the  ducal  cities  of  North  Italy,  such  as 
Mantua,  Modena,  Parma,  and  Ferrara,  locked  up 
quietly  within  their  walls,  and  left  to  crumble  and 
totter  and  fall,  without  any  harder  presence  to  vex 
them  in  their  decrepitude  than  that  of  some  gray 
custodian,  who  should  come  to  the  gate  with  clank 
ing  keys,  and  admit  the  wandering  stranger,  if  he 
gave  signs  of  a  reverent  sympathy,  to  look  for  a 
little  while  upon  the  reserved  and  dignified  desola 
tion.  It  is  a  shame  to  tempt  these  sad  old  cities  into 
unnatural  activity,  when  they  long  ago  made  their 
peace  with  the  world,  and  would  fain  be  mixing  their 
weary  brick  and  mortar  with  the  earth's  unbuilded 
dust ;  and  it  is  hard  for  the  emotional  traveler  to 
restrain  his  sense  of  outrage  at  finding  them  inhab 
ited,  and  their  rest  broken  by  sounds  of  toil,  traffic, 


IN   FERRARA  17 

and  idleness ;  at  seeing  places  that  would  gladly 
have  had  done  with  history  still  doomed  to  be  parts 
of  political  systems,  to  read  the  newspapers,  and  to 
expose  railway  guides  and  caricatures  of  the  Pope 
and  of  Napoleon  in  their  shop  windows. 

Of  course,  Ferrara  was  not  incorporated  into  a 
living  nation  against  her  will,  and  I  therefore  mar 
veled  the  more  that  she  had  become  a  portion  of 
the  present  kingdom  of  Italy.  The  poor  little  State 
had  its  day  long  before  ours  ;  it  had  been  a  republic, 
and  then  subject  to  lords  ;  and  then,  its  lords  becom 
ing  dukes,  it  had  led  a  life  of  gayety  and  glory  till 
its  fall,  and  given  the  world  such  names  and  memo 
ries  as  had  fairly  won  it  the  right  to  rest  forever 
from  making  history.  Its  individual  existence  ended 
with  that  of  Alfonso  II.,  in  1597,  when  the  Pope 
declared  it  reverted  to  the  Holy  See ;  and  I  always 
fancied  that  it  must  have  received  with  a  spectral, 
yet  courtly  kind  of  surprise,  those  rights  of  man 
which  bloody  handed  France  distributed  to  the  Ital 
ian  cities  in  1 796 ;  that  it  must  have  experienced  a 
ghostly  bewilderment  in  its  rapid  transformation, 
thereafter,  under  Napoleon,  into  part  of  the  Cis- 
padan  Republic,  the  Cisalpine  Republic,  the  Italian 
Republic,  and  the  Kingdom  of  Italy,  and  that  it 
must  have  sunk  back  again  under  the  rule  of  the 
Popes  with  gratitude  and  relief  at  last — as  phan 
toms  are  reputed  to  be  glad  when  released  from 
haunting  the  world  where  they  once  dwelt.  I  speak 
of  all  this,  not  so  much  from  actual  knowledge  of 
facts  as  from  personal  feeling ;  for  it  seems  to  me 


i8  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

that  if  I  were  a  city  of  the  past,  and  must  be  in 
habited  at  all,  I  should  choose  just  such  priestly 
domination,  assured  that  though  it  consumed  my 
substance,  yet  it  would  be  well  for  my  fame  and 
final  repose.  I  should  like  to  feel  that  my  old 
churches  were  safe  from  demolition  ;  that  my  old 
convents  and  monasteries  should  always  shelter  the 
pious  indolence  of  friars  and  nuns.  It  would  be 
pleasant  to  have  studious  monks  exploring  quaint 
corners  of  my  unphilosophized  annals,  and  gentle, 
snuff-taking  abbes  writing  up  episodes  in  the  his 
tory  of  my  noble  families,  and  dedicating  them  to 
the  present  heirs  of  past  renown  ;  while  the  thinker 
and  the  reviewer  should  never  penetrate  my 
archives.  Being  myself  done  with  war,  I  should 
be  glad  to  have  my  people  exempt,  as  they  are 
under  the  Pope,  from  military  service  ;  and  I  should 
hope  that  if  the  Legates  taxed  them,  the  taxes  paid 
would  be  as  so  many  masses  said  to  get  my  soul 
out  of  the  purgatory  of  perished  capitals.  Finally, 
I  should  trust  that  in  the  sanctified  keeping  of  the 
Legates  my  mortal  part  would  rest  as  sweetly  as 
bones  laid  in  hallowed  earth  brought  from  Jeru 
salem  ;  and  that  under  their  serene  protection  I 
should  be  forever  secure  from  being  in  any  way  ex 
humed  and  utilized  by  the  ruthless  hand  of  Progress. 
However,  as  I  said,  this  is  a  mere  personal  prefer 
ence,  and  other  old  cities  might  feel  differently.  In 
deed,  though  disposed  to  condole  with  Ferrara  upon 
the  fact  of  her  having  become  part  of  modern  Italy, 
I  could  not  deny,  on  better  acquaintance  with  her, 


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IN    FERRARA  19 

that  she  was  still  almost  entirely  of  the  past.  She  has 
certainly  missed  that  ideal  perfection  of  non-exist 
ence  under  the  Popes  which  I  have  just  depicted, 
but  she  is  practically  almost  as  profoundly  at  rest 
under  the  King  of  Italy.  One  may  walk  long 
through  the  longitude  and  rectitude  of  many  of  her 
streets  without  the  encounter  of  a  single  face  :  the 
place,  as  a  whole,  is  by  no  means  as  lively  as  Pom 
peii,  where  there  are  always  strangers  ;  perhaps  the 
only  cities  in  the  world  worthy  to  compete  with 
Ferrara  in  point  of  agreeable  solitude  are  Mantua 
and  Herculaneum.  It  is  the  newer  part  of  the 
town  —  the  modern  quarter  built  before  Boston  was 
settled  or  Ohio  was  known  —  which  is  loneliest ; 
and  whatever  motion  and  cheerfulness  are  still  felt 
in  Ferrara  linger  fondly  about  the  ancient  holds  of 
life  —  about  the  street  before  the  castle  of  the 
Dukes,  and  in  the  elder  and  narrower  streets 
branching  away  from  the  piazza,  of  the  Duomo, 
where,  on  market  days,  there  is  a  kind  of  dreamy 
tumult.  In  the  Ghetto  we  were  almost  crowded, 
and  people  wanted  to  sell  us  things,  with  an  enter 
prise  that  contrasted  strangely  with  shopkeeping 
apathy  elsewhere.  Indeed,  surprise  at  the  presence 
of  strangers  spending  two  days  in  Ferrara  when 
they  could  have  got  away  sooner,  was  the  only  emo 
tion  which  the  whole  population  agreed  in  express 
ing  with  any  degree  of  energy,  but  into  this  they 
seemed  to  throw  their  whole  vitality.  The  Italians 
are  everywhere  an  artless  race,  so  far  as  concerns 
the  gratification  of  their  curiosity,  from  which  no 


20  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

consideration  of  decency  deters  them.  Here  in 
Ferrara  they  turned  about  and  followed  us  with 
their  eyes,  came  to  windows  to  see  us,  lay  in  wait 
for  us  at  street  corners,  and  openly  and  audibly 
debated  whether  we  were  English  or  German.  This 
interest  rose  almost  into  a  frenzy  of  craving  to 
know  more  of  us  all,  when  on  the  third  day  the 
whole  city  assembled  before  our  hotel,  and  wit 
nessed,  with  a  sort  of  desperate  cry,  the  departure 
of  the  heavy-laden  omnibus  which  bore  us  and  our 
luggage  from  their  midst. 

IV 

I  DOUBT  if,  after  St.  Mark's  in  Venice,  the  Duomo 
at  Parma,  and  the  Four  Fabrics  at  Pisa,  there  is  a 
church  more  worthy  to  be  seen  for  its  quaint,  rich 
architecture,  than  the  cathedral  at  Ferrara.  It  is 
of  that  beloved  Gothic  of  which  eye  or  soul  cannot 
weary,  and  we  continually  wandered  back  to  it  from 
other  more  properly  interesting  objects.  It  is  hor 
ribly  restored  indoors,  and  its  baroque  splendors 
soon  drove  us  forth,  after  we  had  looked  at  the  Last 
Judgment  by  Bastianino.  The  style  of  this  painting 
is  muscular  and  Michelangelic,  and  the  artist's  notion 
of  putting  his  friends  in  heaven  and  his  foes  in  hell 
is  by  no  means  novel ;  but  he  has  achieved  fame 
for  his  picture  by  the  original  thought  of  making 
it  his  revenge  for  a  disappointment  in  love.  The 
unhappy  lady  who  refused  his  love  is  represented 
in  the  depths,  in  the  attitude  of  supplicating  the 
pity  and  interest  of  another  maiden  in  Paradise  who 


IN   FERRARA  21 

accepted  Bastianino,  and  who  consequently  has  no 
mercy  on  her  that  snubbed  him.  But  I  counted  of 
far  more  value  than  this  fresco  the  sincere  old 
sculptures  on  the  facade  of  the  cathedral,  in  which 
the  same  subject  is  treated,  beginning  from  the 
moment  the  archangel's  trump  has  sounded.  The 
people  getting  suddenly  out  of  their  graves  at  the 
summons  are  all  admirable  ;  but  the  best  among 
them  is  the  excellent  man  with  one  leg  over  the  side 
of  his  coffin,  and  tugging  with  both  hands  to  pull 
himself  up,  while  the  coffin-lid  tumbles  off  behind. 
One  sees  instantly  that  the  conscience  of  this  early 
riser  is  clean,  for  he  makes  no  miserable  attempt  to 
turn  over  for  a  nap  of  a  few  thousand  years  more, 
with  the  pretense  that  it  was  not  the  trump  of 
doom,  but  some  other  and  unimportant  noise  he  had 
heard.  The  final  reward  of  the  blessed  is  expressed 
by  the  repose  of  one  small  figure  in  the  lap  of  a 
colossal  effigy,  which  I  understood  to  mean  rest  in 
Abraham's  bosom  ;  but  the  artist  has  bestowed  far 
more  interest  and  feeling  upon  the  fate  of  the 
damned,  who  are  all  boiling  in  rows  of  immense 
pots.  It  is  doubtful  (considering  the  droll  aspect 
of  heavenly  bliss  as  figured  in  the  one  small  saint 
and  the  large  patriarch)  whether  the  artist  intended 
the  condition  of  his  sinners  to  be  so  horribly  comic 
as  it  is  ;  but  the  effect  is  just  as  great,  for  all  that, 
and  the  slowest  conscience  might  well  take  alarm 
from  the  spectacle  of  fate  so  grotesque  and  ludi 
crous  ;  for,  wittingly  or  unwittingly,  the  artist  here 
punishes,  as  Dante  knew  best  how  to  do,  the  folly 


22  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

of  sinners  as  well  as  their  wickedness.  Boiling  is 
bad  enough  ;  but  to  be  boiled  in  an  undeniable 
dinner-pot,  like  a  leg  of  mutton,  is  to  suffer  shame 
as  well  as  agony. 

We  turned  from  these  horrors,  and  walked  down 
by  the  side  of  the  Duomo  toward  the  Ghetto,  which 
is  not  so  foul  as  one  could  wish  a  Ghetto  to  be. 
The  Jews  were  admitted  to  Ferrara  in  1275,  and, 
throughout  the  government  of  the  Dukes,  were  free 
to  live  where  they  chose  in  the  city  ;  but  the  Pope's 
Legate  assigned  them  afterward  a  separate  quarter, 
which  was  closed  with  gates.  Large  numbers  of 
Spanish  Jews  fled  hither  during  the  persecutions, 
and  there  are  four  synagogues  for  the  four  lan 
guages,  —  Spanish,  German,  French,  and  Italian. 
Avventi  mentions,  among  other  interesting  facts 
concerning  the  Ferrarese  Jews,  that  one  of  their 
Rabbins,  Isaaco  degli  Abranelli,  a  man  of  excellent 
learning  in  the  Scriptures,  claimed  to  be  descended 
from  David.  His  children  still  abide  in  Ferrara  ; 
and  it  may  have  been  one  of  his  kingly  line  that 
kept  the  tempting  antiquarian's  shop  on  the  corner 
from  which  you  turn  up  toward  the  Library.  I 
should  think  such  a  man  would  find  a  sort  of  melan 
choly  solace  in  such  a  place :  filled  with  broken  and 
fragmentary  glories  of  every  kind,  it  would  serve 
him  for  that  chamber  of  desolation,  set  apart  in  the 
houses  of  the  Oriental  Hebrews  as  a  place  to  bewail 
themselves  in  ;  and,  indeed,  this  idea  may  go  far  to 
explain  the  universal  Israelitish  fondness  for  dealing 
in  relics  and  ruins. 


IN    FERRARA  23 


THE  Ghetto  was  in  itself  indifferent  to  us ;  it  was 
merely  our  way  to  the  Library,  whither  the  great 
memory  of  Ariosto  invited  us  to  see  his  famous 
relics  treasured  there. 

We  found  that  the  dead  literati  of  Ferrara  had 
the  place  wholly  to  themselves  ;  not  a  living  soul 
disputed  the  solitude  of  the  halls  with  the  custodi 
ans,  and  the  bust  of  Ariosto  looked  down  from  his 
monument  upon  rows  of  empty  tables,  idle  chairs, 
and  dusty  inkstands. 

The  poet,  who  was  painted  by  Titian,  has  a  tomb 
of  abandoned  ugliness,  and  sleeps  under  three 
epitaphs  ;  while  cherubs  frescoed  on  the  wall  be 
hind  affect  to  disclose  the  mausoleum,  by  lifting  a 
frescoed  curtain,  but  deceive  no  one  who  cares  to 
consider  how  impossible  it  would  be  for  them  to 
perform  this  service  and  caper  so  ignobly  as  they 
do  at  the  same  time.  In  fact,  this  tomb  of  Ariosto 
shocks  with  its  hideousness  and  levity.  It  stood 
formerly  in  the  Church  of  San  Benedetto,  where  it 
was  erected  shortly  after  the  poet's  death,  and  it 
was  brought  to  the  Library  by  the  French,  when 
they  turned  the  church  into  a  barrack  for  their 
troops.  The  poet's  dust,  therefore,  rests  here, 
where  the  worm,  working  silently  through  the  vel 
lum  volumes  on  the  shelves,  feeds  upon  the  immor 
tality  of  many  other  poets.  In  the  adjoining  hall 
are  the  famed  and  precious  manuscripts  of  Ariosto 
and  of  Tasso.  A  special  application  must  be  made 


24  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

to  the  librarian,  in  order  to  see  the  fragment  of  the 
"  Furioso  "  in  Ariosto's  hand,  and  the  manuscript 
copy  of  the  "  Gerusalemma,"  with  the  corrections 
by  Tasso.  There  are  some  pages  of  Ariosto's  Satires, 
framed  and  glazed  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  less 
curious  ;  as  well  as  a  letter  of  Tasso's,  written  from 
the  Hospital  of  St.  Anna,  which  the  poet  sends  to  a 
friend,  with  twelve  shirts,  and  in  which  he  begs  that 
his  friend  will  have  the  shirts  mended,  and  cautions 
him  "  not  to  let  them  be  mixed  with  others."  But 
when  the  slow  custodian  had  at  last  unlocked  that 
more  costly  fragment  of  the  "  Furioso,"  and  placed 
it  in  my  hands,  the  other  manuscripts  had  no  value 
for  me.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  one  privilege 
which  travel  has  reserved  to  itself  is  that  of  making 
each  traveler,  in  presence  of  its  treasures,  forget 
whatever  other  travelers  have  said  or  written  about 
them.  I  had  read  so  much  of  Ariosto's  industry, 
and  of  the  proof  of  it  in  this  manuscript,  that  I 
doubted  if  I  should  at  last  marvel  at  it.  But  the 
wonder  remains  with  the  relic,  and  I  paid  it  my 
homage  devoutly  and  humbly,  and  was  disconcerted 
afterward  to  read  again  in  my  Valery  how  sensibly 
all  others  had  felt  the  preciousness  of  that  famous 
page,  which,  filled  with  half  a  score  of  previous 
failures,  contains  in  a  little  open  space  near  the 
margin,  the  poet's  final  triumph  in  a  clearly  written 
stanza.  Scarcely  less  touching  and  interesting  than 
Ariosto's  painful  work  on  these  yellow  leaves  is  the 
grand  and  simple  tribute  which  another  Italian  poet 
was  allowed  to  inscribe  on  one  of  them  :  "  Vittorio 


IN    FERRARA  25 

Alfieri  beheld  and  venerated  ;  "  and  I  think,  count 
ing  over  the  many  memorable  things  I  saw  on  the 
road  to  Rome  and  the  way  home  again,  this  manu 
script  was  the  noblest  thing  and  best  worthy  to  be 
remembered. 

When  at  last  I  turned  from  it,  however,  I  saw 
that  the  custodian  had  another  relic  of  Messer 
Lodovico,  which  he  was  not  ashamed  to  match  with 
the  manuscript  in  my  interest.  This  was  the  bone 
of  one  of  the  poet's  fingers,  which  the  pious  care  of 
Ferrara  had  picked  up  from  his  dust  (when  it  was 
removed  from  the  church  to  the  Library),  and 
neatly  bottled  and  labeled.  They  keep  a  great  deal 
of  sanctity  in  bottles  with  the  bones  of  saints  in 
Italy ;  but  I  found  very  little  savor  of  poesy  hang 
ing  about  this  literary  relic. 

As  if  the  melancholy  fragment  of  mortality  had 
marshaled  us  the  way,  we  went  from  the  Library  to 
the  house  of  Ariosto,  which  stands  at  the  end  of  a 
long,  long  street,  not  far  from  the  railway  station. 
There  was  not  a  Christian  soul,  not  a  boy,  not  a  cat 
nor  a  dog  to  be  seen  in  all  that  long  street,  at  high 
noon,  as  we  looked  down  its  narrowing  perspective, 
and  if  the  poet  and  his  friends  have  ever  a  mind  for 
a  posthumous  meeting  in  his  little  reddish  brick 
house,  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  their  assembly,  in 
broad  daylight,  from  any  part  of  the  neighborhood. 
There  was  no  presence,  however,  more  spiritual 
than  a  comely  country  girl  to  respond  to  our  sum 
mons  at  the  door,  and  nothing  but  a  tub  of  corn- 
meal  disputed  our  passage  inside.  When  I  found 


26  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

the  house  inhabited  by  living  people,  I  began  to 
be  sorry  that  it  was  not  as  empty  as  the  Library 
and  the  street.  Indeed,  it  is  much  better  with  Pe 
trarch's  house  at  Arqua,  where  the  grandeur  of  the 
past  is  never  molested  by  the  small  household  joys 
and  troubles  of  the  present.  That  house  is  vacant, 
and  no  eyes  less  tender  and  fond  than  the  poet's 
visitors  may  look  down  from  its  windows  over  the 
slope  of  vines  and  olives  which  it  crowns  ;  and 
it  seemed  hard,  here  in  Ferrara,  where  the  houses 
are  so  many  and  the  people  are  so  few,  that  Arios- 
to's  house  could  not  be  left  to  him.  Parva  scd  apta 
mi/ti,  he  has  contentedly  written  upon  the  front  ; 
but  I  doubt  if  he  finds  it  large  enough  for  another 
family,  though  his  modern  housekeeper  reserves 
him  certain  rooms  for  visitors.  To  gain  these,  you 
go  up  to  the  second  story  —  there  are  but  two  floors 
—  and  cross  to  the  rear  of  the  building,  where  Ari- 
osto's  chamber  opens  out  of  an  anteroom,  and  looks 
down  upon  a  pinched  and  faded  bit  of  garden.1  In 
this  chamber  they  say  the  poet  died.  It  is  oblong, 
and  not  large.  I  should  think  the  windows  and  roof 
were  of  the  poet's  time,  and  that  everything  else 

1  In  this  garden  the  poet  spent  much  of  his  time  —  chiefly  in 
plucking  up  and  transplanting  the  unlucky  shrubbery,  which  was 
never  suffered  to  grow  three  months  in  the  same  place,  —  such 
was  the  poet's  rage  for  revision.  It  was  probably  never  a  very 
large  or  splendid  garden,  for  the  reason  that  Ariosto  gave  when 
reproached  that  he  who  knew  so  well  how  to  describe  magnificent 
palaces  should  have  built  such  a  poor  little  house  :  "  It  was  easier 
to  make  verses  than  houses,  and  the  fine  palaces  in  his  poem  cost 
him  no  money." 


IN   FERRARA  27 

had  been  restored  ;  I  am  quite  sure  the  chairs  and 
inkstand  were  kindly-meant  inventions  ;  for  the 
poet's  burly  great  armchair  and  graceful  inkstand 
are  both  preserved  in  the  Library.  But  the  house 
is  otherwise  decent  and  probable  ;  and  I  do  not 
question  but  it  was  in  the  hall  where  we  encoun 
tered  the  meal-tub  that  the  poet  kept  a  copy  of  his 
"  Furioso,"  subject  to  the  corrections  and  advice  of 
his  visitors. 

The  ancestral  house  of  the  Ariosti  has  been 
within  a  few  years  restored  out  of  all  memory  and 
semblance  of  itself  ;  and  my  wish  to  see  the  place 
in  which  the  poet  was  born  and  spent  his  childhood 
resulted,  after  infinite  search,  in  finding  a  building 
faced  newly  with  stucco  and  newly  French-win 
dowed. 

Our  portier  said  it  was  the  work  of  the  late  Eng 
lish  vice-consul,  who  had  bought  the  house.  When 
I  complained  of  the  sacrilege,  he  said  :  "  Yes,  it  is 
true.  But  then,  you  must  know,  the  Ariosti  were 
not  one  of  the  noble  families  of  Ferrara." 

VI 

THE  castle  of  the  Dukes  of  Ferrara,  about  which 
cluster  so  many  sad  and  splendid  memories,  stands 
in  the  heart  of  the  city.  I  think  that  the  moonlight 
which,  on  the  night  of  our  arrival,  showed  me  its 
massive  walls  rising  from  the  shadowy  moat  that 
surrounds  them,  and  its  four  great  towers,  heavily 
buttressed,  and  expanding  at  the  top  into  bulging 
cornices  of  cavernous  brickwork,  could  have  fallen 


28  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

on  nothing  else  in  all  Italy  so  picturesque,  and  so 
full  of  the  proper  dread  charm  of  feudal  times,  as 
this  pile  of  gloomy  and  majestic  strength.  The 
daylight  took  nothing  of  this  charm  from  it ;  for  the 
castle  stands  isolated  in  the  midst  of  the  city,  as  its 
founder  meant  that  it  should,1  and  modern  civiliza 
tion  has  not  crossed  the  castle  moat  to  undignify 
its  exterior  with  any  visible  touch  of  the  present. 
To  be  sure,  when  you  enter  it,  the  magnificent  life 
is  gone  out  of  the  old  edifice  ;  it  is  no  stately  hal 
berdier  who  stands  on  guard  at  the  gate  of  the 
drawbridge,  but  a  stumpy  Italian  soldier  in  baggy 
trousers.  The  castle  is  full  of  public  offices,  and 
one  sees  in  its  courts  and  on  its  stairways,  not  bril 
liant  men-at-arms,  nor  gay  squires  and  pages,  but 
whistling  messengers  going  from  one  office  to  an 
other  with  docketed  papers,  and  slipshod  serving- 
men  carrying  the  clerks  their  coffee  in  very  dirty 

1  The  castle  of  Ferrara  was  begun  in  1385  by  Niccol6  d'Este 
to  defend  himself  against  the  repetition  of  scenes  of  tumult,  in 
which  his  princely  rights  were  invaded.  One  of  his  tax-gatherers, 
Tommaso  da  Tortona,  had,  a  short  time  before,  made  himself  so 
obnoxious  to  the  people  by  his  insolence  and  severity,  that  they 
rose  against  him  and  demanded  his  life.  He  took  refuge  in  the 
palace  of  his  master,  which  was  immediately  assailed.  The 
prince's  own  life  was  threatened,  and  he  was  forced  to  surrender 
the  fugitive  to  the  people,  who  tore  Tortona  limb  from  limb, 
and  then,  after  parading  the  city  with  the  mutilated  remains, 
quietly  returned  to  their  allegiance.  Niccolo,  therefore,  caused 
this  castle  to  be  built,  which  he  strengthened  with  massive  walls 
and  towers  commanding  the  whole  city,  and  rendered  inaccessible 
by  surrounding  it  with  a  deep  and  wide  canal  from  the  river 
Reno. 


#fl 

& 

•'-'  1SI 


f 

•1        y      Vif^i  •*'' 
"'   IT  fif'.^MJ  1  '    V)    .-  -  •4r  •"  ^-^'  'P  '  • 

'  '  '' 


-' 


-^ 


THE   CASTLE,   FERRARA 


IN    FERRARA  .        29 

little  pots.  Dreary-looking  suitors,  slowly  grinding 
through  the  mills  of  law,  or  passing  the  routine  of 
the  offices,  are  the  guests  encountered  in  the  corri 
dors  ;  and  all  that  bright-colored  throng  of  the  old 
days,  ladies  and  lords,  is  passed  from  the  scene. 
The  melodrama  is  over,  and  now  we  have  a  play 
of  real  life,  founded  on  fact  and  inculcating  a  moral. 
Of  course  the  custodians  were  slow  to  admit  any 
change  of  this  kind.  If  you  could  have  believed 
them,  —  and  the  poor  people  told  as  many  lies  as 
they  could  to  make  you,  —  you  would  believe  that 
nothing  had  ever  happened  of  a  commonplace  nature 
in  this  castle.  The  taking-off  of  Hugo  and  Parisina 
they  think  the  great  merit  of  the  castle ;  and  one  of 
them,  seeing  us,  made  haste  to  light  his  taper  and 
conduct  us  down  to  the  dungeons  where  those  un 
happy  lovers  were  imprisoned.  It  is  the  misfortune 
of  memorable  dungeons  to  acquire,  when  put  upon 
show,  just  the  reverse  of  those  properties  which 
should  raise  horror  and  distress  in  the  mind  of  the 
beholder.  It  was  impossible  to  deny  that  the  cells 
of  Parisina  and  of  Hugo  were  both  singularly  warm, 
dry,  and  comfortable  ;  and  we,  who  had  never  been 
imprisoned  in  them,  found  it  hard  to  command,  for 
our  sensation,  the  terror  and  agony  of  the  miserable 
ones  who  suffered  there.  We,  happy  and  secure  in 
these  dungeons,  could  not  think  of  the  guilty  pair 
bowing  themselves  to  the  headsman's  stroke  in  the 
gloomy  chamber  under  the  Hall  of  Aurora;  nor  of 
the  Marquis,  in  his  night-long  walk,  breaking  at  last 
into  frantic  remorse  and  tears  to  know  that  his  will 


30  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

had  been  accomplished.  Nay,  there  upon  its  very 
scene,  the  whole  tragedy  faded  from  us  ;  and,  see 
ing  our  wonder  so  cold,  the  custodian  tried  to  kindle 
it  by  saying  that  in  the  time  of  the  event  these  cells 
were  much  dreadfuller  than  now,  which  was  no  doubt 
true.  The  floors  of  the  dungeons  are  both  below 
the  level  of  the  moat,  and  the  narrow  windows,  or 
rather  crevices  to  admit  the  light,  were  cut  in  the 
prodigiously  thick  wall  just  above  the  water,  and 
were  defended  with  four  successive  iron  gratings. 
The  dungeons  are  some  distance  apart  :  that  of 
Hugo  was  separated  from  the  outer  wall  of  the  cas 
tle  by  a  narrow  passageway,  while  Parisina's  win 
dow  opened  directly  upon  the  moat. 

When  we  ascended  again  to  the  court  of  the 
castle,  the  custodian,  abetted  by  his  wife,  would 
have  interested  us  in  two  memorable  wells  there, 
between  which,  he  said,  Hugo  was  beheaded  ;  and 
unabashed  by  the  small  success  of  this  fable,  he 
pointed  out  two  windows  in  converging  angles  over 
head,  from  one  of  which  the  Marquis,  looking  into 
the  other,  discovered  the  guilt  of  the  lovers.  The 
windows  are  now  walled  up,  but  are  neatly  repre 
sented  to  the  credulous  eye  by  a  fresco  of  lattices. 

Valery  mentions  another  claim  upon. the  interest 
of  the  tourist  which  this  castle  may  make,  in  the 
fact  that  it  once  sheltered  John  Calvin,  who  was 
protected  by  the  Marchioness  Renee,  wife  of  Her 
cules  II. ;  and  my  "  Servitore  di  Piazza"  (the  one 
who  knows  how  to  read  and  write)  gives  the  fol 
lowing  account  of  the  matter,  in  speaking  of  the 


IN    FERRARA  31 

domestic  chapel  which  Renee  had  built  in  the  castle: 
"This  lady  was  learned  in  belles-lettres  and  in  the 
schismatic  doctrines  which  at  that  time  were  insin 
uating  themselves  throughout  France  and  Germany, 
and  with  which  Calvin,  Luther,  and  other  prose 
lytes  agitated  the  people  and  threatened  war  to  the 
Catholic  religion.  Nationally  fond  of  innovation, 
and  averse  to  the  court  of  Rome  on  account  of  the 
dissensions  between  her  father  and  Pope  Julius  II., 
Renee  began  to  receive  the  teachings  of  Calvin, 
with  whom  she  maintained  a  correspondence.  In 
deed,  Calvin  himself,  under  the  name  of  Huppeville, 
visited  her  in  Ferrara,  in  1536,  and  ended  by  cor 
rupting  her  mind  and  seducing  her  into  his  own 
errors,  which  produced  discord  between  her  and  her 
religious  husband,  and  resulted  in  his  placing  her  in 
temporary  seclusion,  in  order  to  attempt  her  con 
version.  Hence,  the  chapel  is  faced  with  marble, 
paneled  in  relief,  and  studied  to  avoid  giving  place 
to  saints  or  images,  which  were  disapproved  by  the 
almost  Anabaptist  doctrines  of  Calvin,  then  fatally 
imbibed  by  the  princess." 

We  would  willingly,  as  Protestants,  have  visited 
this  wicked  chapel ;  but  we  were  prevented  from 
seeing  it,  as  well  as  the  famous  frescoes  of  Dosso 
Dossi  in  the  Hall  of  Aurora,  by  the  fact  that  the 
prefect  was  giving  a  little  dinner  (pranzetto)  in  that 
part  of  the  castle.  We  were  not  so  greatly  disap 
pointed  in  reality  as  we  made  believe ;  but  our  ser- 
vitore  di  piazza  (the  unlettered  one)  was  almost 
moved  to  lesa  maesta  with  vexation.  He  had  been 


32  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

full  of  scorching  patriotism  the  whole  morning ;  but 
now  electing  the  unhappy  and  apologetic  custodian 
representative  of  Piedmontese  tyranny,  he  bitterly 
assailed  the  government  of  the  king.  In  the  times 
of  His  Holiness  the  Legates  had  made  it  their  plea 
sure  and  duty  to  show  the  whole  castle  to  strangers. 
But  now  strangers  must  be  sent  away  without  see 
ing  its  chief  beauties,  because,  forsooth,  the  prefect 
was  giving  a  little  dinner.  Presence  of  the  Devil ! 

VII 

IN  our  visits  to  the  different  churches  in  Ferrara 
we  noticed  devotion  in  classes  of  people  who  are 
devout  nowhere  else  in  Italy.  Not  only  came  solid- 
looking  business  men  to  say  their  prayers,  but  gay 
young  dandies,  who  knelt  and  repeated  their  orisons 
and  then  rose  and  went  seriously  out.  In  Venice 
they  would  have  posted  themselves  against  a  pillar, 
sucked  the  heads  of  their  sticks,  and  made  eyes  at 
the  young  ladies  kneeling  near  them.  This  degree 
of  religion  was  all  the  more  remarkable  in  Ferrara, 
because  that  city  had  been  so  many  years  under 
the  Pope. 

Valery  speaks  of  the  delightful  society  which  he 
met  in  the  gray  old  town  ;  and  it  is  said  that  Ferrara 
has  an  unusual  share  of  culture  in  her  wealthy  class, 
which  is  large.  With  such  memories  of  learning 
and  literary  splendor  as  belong  to  her,  it  would  be 
strange  if  she  did  not  in  some  form  keep  alive  the 
sacred  flame.  But,  though  there  may  be  refinement 
and  erudition  in  Ferrara,  she  has  given  no  great 


IN    FERRARA  33 

name  to  modern  Italian  literature.  Her  men  of 
letters  seem  to  be  of  that  race  of  grubs  singularly 
abundant  in  Italy,  —  men  who  dig  out  of  archives 
and  libraries  some  topic  of  special  and  momentary 
interest  and  print  it,  unstudied  and  unphilosophized. 
Their  books  are  material,  not  literature,  and  it  is 
marvelous  how  many  of  them  are  published.  A 
writer  on  any  given  subject  can  heap  together  from 
them  a  mass  of  fact  and  anecdote  invaluable  in  its 
way  ;  but  it  is  a  mass  without  life  or  light,  and  must 
be  vivified  by  him  who  uses  it  before  it  can  serve  the 
world,  which  does  not  care  for  its  dead  local  value. 
What  numbers  of  people  used  to  write  verses  in 
Ferrara !  By  operation  of  the  principle  which  causes 
things  concerning  whatever  subject  you  happen  to 
be  interested  in  to  turn  up  in  every  direction,  I 
found  a  volume  of  these  dead-and-gone  immortals 
at  a  book-stall,  one  day,  in  Venice.  It  is  a  curiously 
uncomfortable  volume  of  the  year  1 703,  printed  all 
in  italics.  I  suppose  there  are  two  hundred  odd 
rhymers  selected  from  in  that  book,  —  and  how 
droll  the  most  of  them  are,  with  their  unmistakable 
traces  of  descent  from  Ariosto,  Tasso,  and  Guarini ! 
What  acres  of  enameled  meadow  there  are  in  those 
pages !  Brooks  enough  to  turn  all  the  mills  in  the 
world  go  purling  through  them.  I  should  say  some 
thousands  of  nymphs  are  constantly  engaged  in 
weaving  garlands  there,  and  the  swains  keep  such 
a  piping  on  those  familiar  notes,  —  Amore,  dolore, 
crude le,  and  miele.  Poor  little  poets  !  they  knew 
no  other  tunes ! 


34  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 


VIII 


I  THINK  some  of  the  pleasantest  people  in  Italy 
are  the  army  gentlemen.  There  is  the  race's  gen 
tleness  in  their  ways,  in  spite  of  their  ferocious 
trade,  and  met  in  travel  they  are  ready  to  render 
any  little  kindness. 

The  other  year  at  Reggio  (which  is  not  far  from 
Modena)  we  stopped  to  dine  at  a  restaurant  where 
the  whole  garrison  had  its  coat  off  and  was  playing 
billiards,  with  the  exception  of  one  or  two  officers, 
who  were  dining.  These  rose  and  bowed  as  we 
entered  their  room,  and  when  the  waiter  pretended 
that  such  and  such  dishes  were  out  (in  Italy  the 
waiter,  for  some  mysterious  reason,  always  pretends 
that  the  best  dishes  are  out),  they  bullied  him  for 
the  honor  of  Italy,  and  made  him  bring  them  to  us. 
We  were  in  deep  despair  at  finding  no  French 
bread,  and  the  waiter  swore  with  pathos  that  there 
was  none  ;  but  as  soon  as  his  back  was  turned,  a 
tightly  laced  little  captain  rose  and  began  to  forage 
for  the  bread.  He  opened  every  drawer  and  cup 
board  in  the  room,  and  finding  none,  invaded  an 
other  room,  captured  several  loaves  from  the  plates 
laid  there,  and  brought  them  back  in  triumph,  pre 
senting  them  to  us  amid  the  applause  of  his  com 
rades.  The  dismay  of  the  waiter,  on  his  return,  was 
ineffable. 

Three  officers,  who  dined  with  us  at  the  table 
d'hote  of  the  Stella  d'Oro  in  Ferrara  (and  excellent 
dinners  were  those  we  ate  there),  were  visibly  anxious 


IN    FERRARA  35 

to  address  us,  and  began  not  uncivilly,  but  still  in 
order  that  we  should  hear,  to  speculate  on  our 
nationality  among  themselves.  It  appeared  that  we 
were  Germans  ;  for  one  of  these  officers,  who  had 
formerly  been  in  the  Austrian  service  at  Vienna, 
recognized  the  word  bitter  in  our  remarks  on  the 
beccaficki.  As  I  did  not  care  to  put  these  fine  fel 
lows  to  the  trouble  of  hating  us  for  others'  faults,  I 
made  bold  to  say  that  we  were  not  Germans,  and  to 
add  that  bitter  was  also  an  English  word.  Ah  !  yes, 
to  be  sure,  one  of  them  admitted  ;  when  he  was  with 
the  Sardinian  army  in  the  Crimea,  he  had  frequently 
heard  the  word  used  by  the  English  soldiers.  He 
nodded  confirmation  of  what  he  said  to  his  com 
rades,  and  then  was  good  enough  to  display  what 
English  he  knew.  It  was  barely  sufficient  to  im 
press  his  comrades  ;  but  it  led  the  way  to  a  good 
deal  of  talk  in  Italian. 

"  I  suppose  you  gentlemen  are  all  Piedmontese?" 
I  said. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  our  Crimean.  "  I  am  from 
Como  ;  this  gentleman,  il  signor  Conte  (il  signor 
Conte  bowed),  is  of  Piacenza  ;  and  our  friend  across 
the  table  is  Genoese.  The  army  is  doing  a  great 
deal  to  unify  Italy.  We  are  all  Italians  now,  and 
you  see  we  speak  Italian,  and  not  our  dialects,  to 
gether." 

My  cheap  remark  that  it  was  a  fine  thing  to  see 
them  all  united  under  one  flag,  after  so  many  ages 
of  mutual  hate  and  bloodshed,  turned  the  talk  upon 
the  origin  of  the  Italian  flag;  and  that  led  our 


36  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

Crimean  to  ask  what  was  the  origin  of  the  English 
colors. 

"I  scarcely  know,"  I  said.    "We  are  Americans." 

Our  friends  at  once  grew  more  cordial.  "  Oh, 
Americani !  "  They  had  great  pleasure  of  it.  Did 
we  think  Signer  Leencolen  would  be  reflected  ? 

I  supposed  that  he  had  been  elected  that  day, 
I  said. 

Ah  !  this  was  the  election  day,  then.     Cospetto  ! 

At  this  the  Genoese  frowned  superior  intelligence, 
and  the  Crimean,  gazing  admiringly  upon  him,  said 
he  had  been  nine  months  at  Nuova  York,  and  that 
he  had  a  brother  living  there.  The  poor  Crimean 
boastfully  added  that  he  himself  had  a  cousin  in 
America,  and  that  the  Americans  generally  spoke 
Spanish.  The  count  from  Piacenza  wore  an  air  of 
pathetic  discomfiture,  and  tried  to  invent  a  trans 
atlantic  relative,  as  I  think,  but  failed. 

I  am  persuaded  that  none  of  these  warriors  really 
had  kinsmen  in  America,  but  that  they  all  pretended 
to  have  them,  out  of  politeness  to  us,  and  that  they 
believed  each  other.  It  was  very  kind  of  them,  and 
we  were  so  grateful  that  we  put  no  embarrassing 
questions.  Indeed,  the  conversation  presently  took 
another  course,  and  grew  to  include  the  whole 
table. 

There  was  an  extremely  pretty  Italian  present 
with  her  newly  wedded  husband,  who  turned  out  to 
be  a  retired  officer.  He  fraternized  at  once  with  our 
soldiers,  and  when  we  left  the  table  they  all  rose 
and  made  military  obeisances.  Having  asked  leave 


IN   FERRARA  37 

to  light  their  cigars,  they  were  smoking  —  the  sweet 
young  bride  blowing  a  fairy  cloud  from  her  rosy 
lips  with  the  rest.  "  Why,"  I  once  heard  an  Italian 
lady  ask,  "  should  men  pretend  to  deny  us  the  priv 
ilege  of  smoking  ?  It  is  so  pleasant  and  innocent." 
It  is  but  just  to  the  Italians  to  say  that  they  do 
not  always  deny  it  ;  and  there  is,  without  doubt,  a 
certain  grace  and  charm  in  a  pretty  fumatrice.  I 
suppose  it  is  a  habit  not  so  pleasing  in  an  ugly 
or  middle-aged  woman. 


IV.     THROUGH    BOLOGNA   TO   GENOA 


WE  had  intended  to  stay  only  one  day  at  Fer- 
rara,  but  just  at  that  time  the  storms  pre 
dicted  on  the  Adriatic  and  Mediterranean  coasts, 
by  Mathieu  de  la  Drome,  had  been  raging  all  over 
Italy,  and  the  railway  communications  were  broken 
in  every  direction.  The  magnificent  work  through 
and  under  the  Apennines,  between  Bologna  and 
Florence,  had  been  washed  away  by  the  mountain 
torrents  in  a  dozen  places,  and  the  roads  over  the 
plains  of  the  Romagna  had  been  sapped  by  the 
flood,  and  rendered  useless,  where  not  actually  laid 
under  water. 

On  the  day  of  our  intended  departure  we  left  the 
hotel,  with  other  travelers,  gayly  incredulous  of  the 


BOLOGNA   TO    GENOA  39 

landlord's  fear  that  no  train  would  start  for  Bologna. 
At  the  station  we  found  a  crowd  of  people  waiting 
and  hoping,  but  there  was  a  sickly  cast  of  doubt  in 
some  faces,  and  the  labeled  employes  of  the  railway 
wore  looks  of  ominous  importance.  Of  course  the 
crowd  did  not  lose  its  temper.  It  sought  informa 
tion  of  the  officials  running  to  and  fro  with  telegrams, 
in  a  spirit  of  national  sweetness,  and  consoled  itself 
with  saying,  as  Italy  has  said  under  all  circumstances 
of  difficulty  for  centuries  :  Ci  vuol pazienza  !  At 
last  a  blank  silence  fell  upon  it,  as  the  Capo-Stazione 
advanced  toward  a  well-dressed  man  in  the  crowd, 
and  spoke  to  him  quietly.  The  well-dressed  man 
lifted  his  forefinger  and  waved  it  back  and  forth  be 
fore  his  face  :  — 

The  Well-dressed  Man.  —  Dunque,  non  si  parte 
piu  ?  (No  departures,  then  ?) 

The  Capo-Stazione  (waving  his  forefinger  in  like 
manner.)  —  Non  si  parte  piu.  (Like  a  mournful 
echo.) 

We  knew  quite  as  well  from  this  pantomime  of 
negation  as  from  the  dialogue  our  sad  fate,  and  sub 
mitted  to  it.  Some  adventurous  spirit  demanded 
whether  any  trains  would  go  on  the  morrow.  The 
Capo-Stazione,  with  an  air  of  one  who  would  not 
presume  to  fathom  the  designs  of  Providence,  re 
sponded  :  "  Who  knows  ?  To-day,  certainly  not. 
To-morrow,  perhaps.  But  "^— and  vanished. 

This  break  in  the  line  was  only  a  few  miles  in 
extent,  and  trains  could  have  approached  both  to 
and  from  Bologna,  so  that  a  little  enterprise  on  the 


40  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

part  of  the  company  could  have  passed  travelers 
from  one  side  to  the  other  with  very  small  trouble 
or  delay.  But  the  railway  company  was  as  much 
daunted  by  the  inundation  as  a  peasant  going  to 
market,  and  for  two  months  after  the  accident  no 
trains  carried  passengers  from  one  city  to  the  other. 
No  doubt,  however,  the  line  was  under  process  of 
very  solid  repair  meanwhile. 

For  the  present  the  only  means  of  getting  to 
Bologna  was  by  carriage  on  the  old  highway,  and 
accordingly  we  took  passage  thither  in  the  omnibus 
of  the  Stella  d'Oro. 

There  was  little  to  interest  us  in  the  country  over 
which  we  rode.  It  is  perfectly  flat,  and  I  suppose 
the  reader  knows  what  quantities  of  hemp  and  flax 
are  raised  there.  The  land  seems  poorer  than  in 
Lombardy,  and  the  farmhouses  and  peasants'  cot 
tages  are  small  and  mean,  though  the  peasants 
themselves,  when  we  met  them,  looked  well  fed,  and 
were  certainly  well  clad.  The  landscape  lay  soak 
ing  in  a  dreary  drizzle  the  whole  way,  and  the  town 
of  Cento,  when  we  reached  it,  seemed  miserably 
conscious  of  being  too  wet  and  dirty  to  go  indoors, 
and  was  loitering  about  in  the  rain.  Our  arrival 
gave  the  poor  little  place  a  sensation,  for  I  think 
such  a  thing  as  an  omnibus  had  not  been  seen  there 
since  the  railway  of  Bologna  and  Ferrara  was  built. 
We  went  into  the  principal  caffe  to  lunch,  —  a  caffe 
much  too  large  for  Cento,  with  immense  red-leather 
cushioned  sofas,  and  a  cold,  forlorn  air  of  half-starved 
gentility,  a  clean,  high-roofed  caffe  and  a  breezy,  — 


BOLOGNA   TO   GENOA  41 

and  thither  the  youthful  nobility  and  gentry  of  the 
place  followed  us,  and  ordered  a  cup  of  coffee,  that 
they  might  sit  down  and  give  us  the  pleasure  of 
their  distinguished  company.  They  put  on  their 
very  finest  manners,  and  took  their  most  captivating 
attitudes  for  the  ladies'  sake ;  and  the  gentlemen 
of  our  party  fancied  that  it  was  for  them  these  young 
men  began  to  discuss  the  Roman  question.  How 
loud  they  were,  and  how  earnest !  And  how  often 
they  consulted  the  ancient  newspapers  of  the  caffe  ! 
The  great  painter  Guercino  was  born  at  Cento, 
and  they  have  a  noble  and  beautiful  statue  of  him 
in  the  piazza,  which  the  town  caused  to  be  erected 
from  contributions  by  all  the  citizens.  Formerly 
his  house  was  kept  for  a  show  to  the  public ;  it  was 
full  of  the  pictures  of  the  painter  and  many  memen 
tos  of  him  ;  but  recently  the  paintings  have  been 
taken  to  the  gallery,  and  the  house  is  now  closed. 
The  gallery  is,  consequently,  one  of  the  richest 
second-rate  galleries  in  Italy,  and  one  may  spend 
much  longer  time  in  it  than  we  gave,  with  great 
profit.  There  are  some  most  interesting  heads  of 
Christ,  painted,  as  Guercino  always  painted  the 
Saviour,  with  a  great  degree  of  humanity  in  the  face. 
It  is  an  excellent  countenance,  and  full  of  sweet 
dignity,  but  quite  different  from  the  conventional 
face  of  Christ. 


42  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

ii 

AT  night  we  were  again  in  Bologna,  of  which  we 
had  not  seen  the  gloomy  arcades  for  two  years.  It 
must  be  a  dreary  town  at  all  times :  in  a  rain  it  is 
horrible  ;  and  I  think  the  whole  race  of  arcaded 
cities,  Treviso,  Padua,  and  Bologna,  are  dull,  blind, 
and  comfortless.  The  effect  of  the  buildings  vaulted 
above  the  sidewalks  is  that  of  a  continuous  cellar- 
way;  your  view  of  the  street  is  constantly  interrupted 
by  the  heavy  brick  pillars  that  support  the  arches  ; 
the  arcades  are  not  even  picturesque.  Liking  to 
leave  Bologna  as  quickly  as  possible,  and,  learning 
that  there  was  no  hope  of  crossing  the  Apennines 
to  Florence,  we  made  haste  to  take  the  first  train 
for  Genoa,  meaning  to  proceed  thence  directly  to 
Naples  by  steamer. 

In  our  car  there  were  none  but  Italians,  and  the 
exchange  of  "  La  Perseveranza "  of  Milan  for  "  II- 
Popolo  "  of  Turin  with  one  of  them  quickly  opened 
the  way  for  conversation  and  acquaintance.  My 
new-made  friend*  turned  out  to  be  a  Milanese.  He 
was  a  physician,  and  had  served  as  a  surgeon  in  the 
late  war  of  Italian  independence ;  but  was  now  placed 
in  a  hospital  in  Milan.  There  was  a  gentle  little 
blonde  with  him,  and  at  Piacenza,  where  we  stopped 
for  lunch,  "  You  see,"  said  he,  indicating  the  lady, 
"we  are  newly  married,"  —  which  was,  indeed,  plain 
enough  to  any  one  who  looked  at  their  joyous  faces, 
and  observed  how  great  disposition  that  little  blonde 
had  to  nestle  on  the  young  man's  broad  shoulder. 


BOLOGNA   TO   GENOA  43 

"  I  have  a  week's  leave  from  my  place,"  he  went  on, 
"and  this  is  our  wedding  journey.  We  were  to 
have  gone  to  Florence,  but  it  seems  we  are  fated 
not  to  see  that  famous  city." 

He  spoke  of  it  as  immensely  far  off,  and  greatly 
amused  us  Americans,  who  had  outgrown  distances. 

"  So  we  are  going  to  Genoa  instead,  for  two  or 
three  days."  "Oh,  have  you  ever  been  at  Genoa  ?" 
the  bride  broke  in.  "  What  magnificent  palaces  ! 
And  then  the  bay,  and  the  villas  in  the  environs  ! 
There  is  the  Villa  Pallavicini,  with  beautiful  gar 
dens,  where  an  artificial  shower  breaks  out  from  the 
bushes,  and  sprinkles  the  people  who  pass.  Such 
fun  !  "  and  she  continued  to  describe  vividly  a  city 
of  which  she  had  only  heard  from  her  husband  ; 
and  it  was  easy  to  see  that  she  walked  in  paradise 
wherever  he  led  her. 

They  say  that  Italian  husbands  and  wives  do  not 
long  remain  fond  of  each  other,  but  it  was  impos 
sible  in  the  presence  of  these  happy  people  not  to 
believe  in  the  eternity  of  their  love.  Their  bliss 
infected  everybody  in  the  car,  and  in  spite  of  the 
weariness  of  our  journey,  and  the  vexation  of  the 
misadventures  which  had  succeeded  one  another 
unsparingly  ever  since  we  left  home,  we  found  our 
selves  far  on  the  way  to  Genoa  before  we  thought 
to  grumble  at  the  distance.  There  was  with  us,  be 
sides  the  bridal  party,  a  lady  traveling  from  Bologna 
to  Turin,  who  had  learned  English  in  London,  and 
spoke  it  much  better  than  most  Londoners.  It 
is  surprising  how  thoroughly  Italians  master  a 


44  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

language  so  alien  to  their  own  as  ours,  and  how 
frequently  you  find  them  acquainted  with  English. 

As  we  drew  near  Genoa,  the  moon  came  out  on 
purpose  to  show  us  the  superb  city,  and  we  strove 
eagerly  for  a  first  glimpse  of  the  proud  capital  where 
Columbus  was  born.  To  tell  the  truth,  the  glimpse 
was  but  slight  and  false,  for  railways  always  enter 
cities  by  some  mean  level,  from  which  any  pictur 
esque  view  is  impossible. 

Near  the  station  in  Genoa,  however,  is  the  weak 
and  ugly  monument  which  the  municipality  has 
lately  raised  to  Columbus.  The  moon  made  the 
best  of  this,  which  stands  in  a  wide  open  space,  and 
contrived,  with  an  Italian  skill  in  the  arrangement 
of  light,  to  produce  an  effect  of  undeniable  splen 
dor.  On  the  morrow,  we  found  out  by  the  careless 
candor  of  the  daylight  what  a  uselessly  big  head 
Columbus  had,  and  how  the  sculptor  had  not  very 
happily  thought  proper  to  represent  him  with  his 
sea-legs  on. 


V.     UP   AND    DOWN    GENOA 


FORMER  consul  at 


whom  I  know, 


has  told  me  a  good  many  stories  about  the 
pieces  of  popular  mind  which  he  received  at  differ 
ent  times  from  the  traveling  public,  in  reproof  of 
his  difficulty  of  discovery ;  and  I  think  it  must  be 
one  of  the  most  jealously  guarded  rights  of  Ameri 
can  citizens  in  foreign  lands  to  declare  the  national 
representative  hard  to  find,  if  there  is  no  other  com 
plaint  to  lodge  against  him.  It  seems  to  be,  in 

peculiar  degree,  a  quality  of  consulship  at ,  to 

be  found  remote  and  inaccessible.  My  friend  says 
that  even  at  New  York,  before  setting  out  for  his 
post,  when  inquiring  into  the  history  of  his  prede 
cessors,  he  heard  that  they  were  one  and  all  hard 
to  find  ;  and  he  relates  that  on  the  steamer,  going 


46  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

over,  there  was  a  low  fellow  who  set  the  table  in  a 
roar  by  a  vulgar  anecdote  to  this  effect :  - 

"  There  was  once  a  consul  at  ,  who  indi 
cated  his  office  hours  by  the  legend  on  his  door,  '  In 
from  ten  to  one.'  An  old  ship-captain,  who  kept 
coming  for  about  a  week  without  finding  the  con 
sul,  at  last  furiously  wrote,  in  the  terms  of  wager, 
under  this  legend,  '  Ten  to  one  you  're  out  !  ' 

My  friend  also  states  that  one  day  a  visitor  of 
his  remarked  :  "  I  am  rather  surprised  to  find  you 
in.  As  a  general  rule,  I  never  do  find  consuls  in." 
Habitually,  his  fellow-countrymen  entertained  him 
with  accounts  of  their  misadventures  in  reaching 
him.  It  was  useless  to  represent  to  them  that  his 

house  was  in  the  most  convenient  locality  in  , 

where,  indeed,  no  stranger  can  walk  twenty  rods 
from  his  hotel  without  losing  himself  ;  that  their 
guide  was  an  ass,  or  their  courier  a  rogue.  They 
listened  to  him  politely,  but  they  never  pardoned 
him  in  the  least ;  and  neither  will  I  forgive  the 
consul  at  Genoa.  I  had  no  earthly  consular  busi 
ness  with  him,  but  a  private  favor  to  ask.  It  was 
Sunday,  and  I  could  not  reasonably  expect  to  find 
him  at  his  office,  or  anybody  to  tell  me  where  he 
lived ;  but  I  have  seldom  had  so  keen  a  sense  of 
personal  wrong  and  national  neglect  as  in  my  search 
for  that  consul's  house. 

In  Italy  there  is  no  species  of  fact  with  which 
any  human  being  you  meet  will  not  pretend  to  have 
perfect  acquaintance,  and,  of  course,  the  driver 
whose  fiacre  we  took  professed  himself  a  complete 


UP   AND   DOWN   GENOA  47 

guide  to  the  consul's  whereabouts,  and  took  us  suc 
cessively  to  the  residences  of  the  consuls  of  all  the 
South  American  republics.  It  occurred  to  me  that 
it  might  be  well  to  inquire  of  these  officials  where 
their  colleague  was  to  be  found  ;  but  it  is  true  that 
not  one  consul  of  them  was  at  home !  Their  doors 
were  opened  by  vacant  old  women,  in  whom  a  vague 
intelligence  feebly  guttered,  like  the  wick  of  an  ex 
piring  candle,  and  who,  after  feigning  to  throw 
floods  of  light  on  the  object  of  my  search,  success 
ively  flickered  out,  and  left  me  in  total  darkness. 

Till  that  day  I  never  knew  what  lofty  flights 
stairs  were  capable  of.  As  out-of-doors,  in  Genoa, 
it  is  either  all  up  or  down  hill,  so  indoors  it  is  either 
all  up  or  down  stairs.  Ascending  and  descending, 
in  one  palace  after  another,  those  infinite  marble 
steps,  it  became  a  question,  not  solved  to  this  hour, 
whether  it  was  worse  to  ascend  or  descend,  —  each 
ordeal  in  its  turn  seemed  so  much  more  terrible  than 
the  other. 

At  last  I  resolved  to  come  to  an  understanding 
with  the  driver,  and  I  spent  what  little  breath  I  had 
left  —  it  was  dry  and  hot  as  the  simoom  —  in  blow 
ing  up  that  infamous  man.  "  You  are  a  great 
driver,"  I  said,  "  not  to  know  your  own  city.  What 
are  you  good  for  if  you  can't  take  a  foreigner  to 
his  consul's  ?  "  "  Signore,"  answered  the  driver 
patiently,  "you  would  have  to  get  a  book  in  two 
volumes  by  heart,  in  order  to  be  able  to  find  every 
body  in  Genoa.  This  city  is  a  labyrinth." 

Truly,  it  had  so  proved,  and  I  could  scarcely  be- 


48  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

lieve  in  my  good  luck  when  I  actually  found  my 
friend,  and  set  out  with  him  on  a  ramble  through 
its  toils. 

A  very  great  number  of  the  streets  in  Genoa  are 
footways  merely,  and  these  are  as  narrow,  as  dark, 
as  full  of  jutting  chimney-places,  balconies,  and 
opened  window-shutters,  and  as  picturesque  as  the 
little  alleys  in  Venice.  They  wander  at  will  around 
the  bases  of  the  gloomy  old  stone  palaces,  and  seem 
to  have  a  vagabond  fondness  for  creeping  down  to 
the  port,  and  losing  themselves  there  in  a  certain 
cavernous  arcade  which  curves  round  the  water  with 
the  flection  of  the  shore,  and  makes  itself  a  twilight 
at  noonday.  Under  it  are  clangorous  shops  of 
ironsmiths,  and  sizzling  shops  of  marine  cooks,  and, 
looking  down  its  dim  perspective,  one  beholds  chiefly 
sea-legs  coming  and  going,  more  or  less  affected  by 
strong  waters  ;  and  as  the  faces  to  which  these  sea- 
legs  belong  draw  near,  one  discerns  sailors  from  all 
parts  of  the  world,  —  tawny  men  from  Sicily  and 
Norway,  as  diverse  in  their  tawniness  as  olive  and 
train-oil ;  sharp  faces  from  Nantucket  and  from  the 
Piraeus,  likewise  mightily  different  in  their  sharp 
ness  ;  blond  Germans  and  blond  Englishmen  ;  and 
now  and  then  a  colored  brother  also  in  the  seafar 
ing  line,  with  sea-legs,  also,  more  or  less  affected  by 
strong  waters  like  the  rest. 

What  curious  people  are  these  seafarers  !  They 
coast  the  whole  world,  and  know  nothing  of  it,  being 
more  ignorant  and  helpless  than  children  on  shore. 
I  spoke  with  the  Yankee  mate  of  a  ship  one  day  at 
Venice  and  asked  him  how  he  liked  the  city. 


GENOA,  A  CITY  OF  PALACES 


UP   AND   DOWN   GENOA  49 

Well,  he  had  not  been  ashore  yet. 

He  was  told  he  had  better  go  ashore ;  that  the 
Piazza  San  Marco  was  worth  seeing. 

Well,  he  knew  it ;  he  had  seen  pictures  of  it ;  but 
he  guessed  he  would  n't  go  ashore. 

Why  not,  now  he  was  here  ? 

Well,  he  laid  out  to  go  ashore  the  next  time  he 
came  to  Venice. 

He  lay  three  weeks  at  Venice  with  his  ship,  after 
a  voyage  of  two  months,  and  he  sailed  away  without 
ever  setting  his  foot  on  that  enchanted  ground. 

I  should  have  liked  to  stop  some  of  those  seafar 
ers  and  ask  them  what  they  thought  of  Genoa. 

It  must  have  been  in  the  little  streets  —  impass 
able  for  horses  —  that  the  people  sat  and  talked, 
as  Heine  fabled,  in  their  doorways,  and  touched 
knees  with  the  people  sitting  and  talking  on  the 
thresholds  of  the  opposite  side.  But  we  saw  no 
gossipers  there  on  our  Sunday  in  Genoa  ;  and  I  think 
the  domestic  race  of  Heine's  day  no  longer  lives  in 
Genoa ;  for  everybody  we  saw  on  the  streets  was 
gayly  dressed  in  the  idea  of  the  last  fashions,  and 
was  to  be  met  chiefly  in  the  public  promenades. 
The  fashions  were  French ;  but  here  still  lingers 
the  lovely  phantom  of  the  old  national  costume  of 
Genoa,  and  snow-white  veils  fluttered  from  many  a 
dark  head,  and  caressed  many  an  olive  cheek.  It 
is  the  kindest  and  charitablest  of  attirements,  this 
white  veil,  and,  while  decking  beauty  to  the  most 
perilous  effect,  befriends  and  modifies  age  and  ugli 
ness. 


SO  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

The  pleasure  with  which  I  look  at  the  splendor 
of  an  Italian  crowd  in  winter  is  always  touched  with 
melancholy.  I  know  that,  at  the  time  of  its  noon 
day  promenade,  it  has  nothing  but  a  cup  of  coffee 
in  its  stomach  ;  that  it  has  emerged  from  a  house  as 
cold  and  dim  as  a  cellar  ;  and  that  it  will  presently 
go  home  to  dine  on  rice  and  boiled  beef.  I  know 
that  chilblains  secretly  gnaw  the  hands  inside  of  its 
kid  gloves,  and  I  see  in  the  rawness  of  its  faces  the 
anguish  of  winter-long  suffering  from  cold.  But  I 
also  look  at  many  in  this  crowd  with  the  eye  of  the 
economist,  and  wonder  how  people  practicing  even 
so  great  self-denial  as  they  can  contrive  to  make  so 
much  display  on  their  little  means, — how  those 
clerks  of  public  offices,  who  have  rarely  an  income 
of  five  hundred  dollars  a  year,  can  dress  with  such 
peerless  gorgeousness.  I  suppose  the  national  in 
stinct  teaches  them  ways  and  means  unknown  to  us. 
The  passion  for  dress  is  universal  :  the  men  are  as 
fond  of  it  as  the  women ;  and,  happily,  clothes  are 
comparatively  cheap. 

We  walked  with  the  brilliant  Genoese  crowd  upon 
the  hill  where  the  public  promenade  overlooks  a 
landscape  of  city  and  country,  houses  and  gardens, 
vines  and  olives,  which  it  makes  the  heart  ache  to 
behold,  it  is  so  faultlessly  beautiful.  Behind  us  the 
fountain  was  — 

"  Shaking  its  loosened  silver  in  the  sun ;  " 

the  birds  were  singing  ;  and  there  were  innumerable 
pretty  girls  going  by,  about  whom  one  might  have 


UP   AND   DOWN    GENOA  51 

made  romances  if  one  had  not  known  better.  Our 
friend  pointed  out  to  us  the  "pink  jail"  in  which 
Dickens  lived  while  at  Genoa  ;  and  showed  us  on 
the  brow  of  a  distant  upland  the  villa,  called  II  Para- 
diso,  which  Byron  had  occupied.  I  dare  say  this 
Genoese  joke  is  already  in  print :  that  the  Devil 
reentered  Paradise  when  Byron  took  this  villa. 
Though  in  loveliest  Italy,  one  is  half  persuaded  that 
the  Devil  had  never  left  Paradise. 

After  lingering  a  little  longer  on  that  delicious 
height,  we  turned  and  went  down  for  a  stroll 
through  the  city. 

My  note-book  says  that  Genoa  is  the  most  mag 
nificent  city  I  ever  saw,  and  I  hold  by  my  note-book, 
though  I  hardly  know  how  to  prove  it.  Venice  is, 
and  remains,  the  most  beautiful  city  in  the  world ; 
but  her  ancient  rival  impresses  you  with  greater 
splendor.  I  suppose  that  the  exclusively  Renais 
sance  architecture,  which  Ruskin  declares  the  archi 
tecture  of  pride,  lends  itself  powerfully  to  this 
effect  in  Genoa.  It  is  here  in  its  best  mood,  and 
there  is  little  grotesque  rococo  to  be  seen,  though 
the  palaces  are,  as  usual,  loaded  with  ornament. 
The  Via  Nuova  is  the  chief  thoroughfare  of  the 
city,  and  the  crowd  pours  through  this  avenue  be 
tween  long  lines  of  palaces.  Height  on  height  rise 
the  stately,  sculptured  fagades,  colonnaded,  statued, 
pierced  by  mighty  doorways  and  lofty  windows  ; 
and  the  palaces  seem  to  gain  a  kind  of  aristocratic 
ha^lte^lr  from  the  fact  that  there  are  for  the  most 
part  no  sidewalks,  and  that  the  carriages,  rolling 


52  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

insolently  through  the  crowd,  threaten  constantly 
to  grind  the  pedestrian  up  against  their  carven  mar 
bles,  and  immolate  him  to  their  stony  pride.  There 
is  something  gracious  and  gentle  in  the  grandeur  of 
Venice,  and  much  that  the  heart  loves  to  cling  to ; 
but  in  Genoa  no  sense  of  kindliness  is  touched  by 
the  magnificence  of  the  city. 

It  was  an  unspeakable  relief,  after  such  a  street, 
to  come,  on  a  sudden,  upon  the  Duomo,  one  of  the 
few  Gothic  buildings  in  Genoa,  and  rest  our  jaded 
eyes  on  that  architecture  which  Heaven  seems  truly 
to  have  put  into  the  thoughts  of  man  together  with 
the  Christian  faith.  O  beloved  beauty  of  aspiring 
arches,  of  slender  and  clustered  columns,  of  flower 
ing  capitals  and  window-traceries,  of  many-carven 
breadths  and  heights,  wherein  all  Nature  breathes 
and  blossoms  again !  There  is  neither  Greek  per 
fection,  nor  winning  Byzantine  languor,  nor  inso 
lent  Renaissance  opulence,  which  may  compare  with 
this  loveliness  of  yours !  Alas  that  the  interior  of 
this  Gothic  temple  of  Genoa  should  abound  in  the 
abomination  of  rococo  restoration !  They  say  that 
the  dust  of  St.  John  the  Baptist  lies  there  within  a 
costly  shrine ;  and  I  wonder  that  it  can  sleep  in 
peace  amid  all  that  heathenish  show  of  bad  taste. 
But  the  poor  saints  have  to  suffer  a  great  deal  in 
Italy. 

Outside,  in  the  piazza  before  the  church,  there 
was  an  idle,  cruel  crowd,  amusing  itself  with  the 
efforts  of  a  blind  old  man  to  find  the  entrance. 
He  had  a  number  of  books  which  he  desperately 


UP   AND    DOWN   GENOA  53 

laid  down  while  he  ran  his  helpless  hands  over  the 
clustered  columns,  and  which  he  then  desperately 
caught  up  again,  in  fear  of  losing  them.  At  other 
times  he  paused,  and  wildly  clasped  his  hands  upon 
his  eyes,  or  wildly  threw  up  his  arms;  and  then 
began  to  run  to  and  fro  again  uneasily,  while  the 
crowd  laughed  and  jeered.  He  seemed  the  type  of 
a  blind  soul  that  gropes  darkly  about  through  life,  to 
find  the  doorway  of  some  divine  truth  or  beauty,  — 
touched  by  the  heavenly  harmonies  from  within, 
and  miserably  failing,  amid  the  scornful  cries  and 
bitter  glee  of  those  who  have  no  will  but  to  mock 
aspiration. 

The  girl  turning  somersaults  in  another  place  had 
far  more  popular  sympathy  than  the  blind  man  at 
the  temple  door,  but  she  was  hardly  a  more  cheerful 
spectacle.  For  all  her  festive  spangles  and  fairy-like 
brevity  of  skirts,  she  had  quite  a  work-a-day  look 
upon  her  honest,  blood-red  face,  as  if  this  were  busi 
ness  though  it  looked  like  sport,  and  her  part  of  the 
diversion  were  as  practical  as  that  of  the  famous 
captain  of  the  waiters,  who  gave  the  act  of  peeling 
a  sack  of  potatoes  a  playful  effect  by  standing  on 
his  head.  The  poor  damsel  was  going  over  and 
over,  to  the  sound  of  most  dismal  drumming  and 
braying  in  front  of  the  immense  old  palace  of  the 
Genoese  Doges,  —  a  classic  building,  stilted  on  a 
rustic  base,  and  quite  worthy  of  Palladio,  if  any 
body  thinks  that  is  praise. 

There  was  little  left  of  our  day  when  we  had 
dined ;  but  having  seen  the  outside  of  Genoa,  and 


54  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

not  hoping  to  see  the  inside,  we  found  even  this 
little  heavy  on  our  hands,  and  were  glad  as  the  hour 
drew  near  when  we  were  to  take  the  steamer  for 
Naples. 

It  had  been  one  of  the  noisiest  days  spent  during 
several  years  in  clamorous  Italy,  whose  voiceful  up 
roar  strikes  to  the  summits  of  her  guardian  Alps, 
and  greets  the  coming  stranger,  and  whose  loud 
Addio  would  stun  him  at  parting,  if  he  had  not 
meanwhile  become  habituated  to  the  operatic  pitch 
of  her  every-day  tones.  In  Genoa,  the  hotels,  tak 
ing  counsel  of  the  vagabond  streets,  stand  about 
the  cavernous  arcade  already  mentioned,  and  all  the 
noise  of  the  shipping  reaches  their  guests.  We  rose 
early  that  Sunday  morning  to  the  sound  of  a  fleet 
unloading  cargoes  of  wrought-iron,  and  of  the  hard 
swearing  of  all  nations  of  seafaring  men.  The 
whole  day  long  the  tumult  followed  us,  and  seemed 
to  culminate  at  last  in  the  screams  of  a  parrot,  who 
thought  it  fine  to  cry  "  Piove  !  piove  !  piove  !  "  — 
"  It  rains  !  it  rains !  it  rains ! "  —and  had,  no  doubt, 
a  secret  interest  in  some  umbrella-shop.  This  un 
principled  bird  dwelt  somewhere  in  the  neighbor 
hood  of  the  street  where  you  see  the  awful  tablet 
in  the  wall  devoting  to  infamy  the  citizens  of  the 
old  republic  that  were  false  to  their  country.  The 
sight  of  that  pitiless  stone  recalls  with  a  thrill  the 
picturesque,  unhappy  past,  with  all  the  wandering, 
half-benighted  efforts  of  the  people  to  rend  their 
liberty  from  now  a  foreign  and  now  a  native  lord. 
At  best,  they  only  knew  how  to  avenge  their 


UP   AND   DOWN   GENOA  55 

wrongs  ;  but  now,  let  us  hope,  they  have  learnt, 
with  all  Italy/to  prevent  them.  The  will  was  never 
wanting  of  old  to  the  Ligurian  race,  and  in  this 
time  they  have  done  their  full  share  to  establish 
Italian  freedom. 

I  do  not  know  why  it  should  have  been  so  surpris 
ing  to  hear  the  boatman  who  rowed  us  to  the  steam 
er's  anchorage  speak  English  ;  but,  after  his  harsh 
Genoese  profanity  in  getting  his  boat  into  open 
water,  it  was  the  last  thing  we  expected  from  him. 
It  had  somehow  the  effect  of  a  furious  beast  ad 
dressing  you  in  your  native  tongue,  and  telling  you 
it  was  "Wary  poordy  wedder;"  and  it  made  us 
cling  to  his  good-nature  with  the  trembling  solici 
tude  of  Little  Red-Riding-Hood  when  she  begins 
to  have  the  first  faint  suspicions  of  her  grandmother. 
However,  our  boatman  was  no  wild  beast,  but  took 
our  six  cents  of  buonamano  with  the  servility  of  a 
Christian  man,  when  he  had  put  our  luggage  in  the 
cabin  of  the  steamer.  I  wonder  how  he  should  have 
known  us  for  Americans  ?  He  did  so  know  us,  and 
said  he  had  been  at  New  York  in  better  days,  when 
he  voyaged  upon  higher  seas  than  those  he  now 
navigated. 

On  board,  we  watched  with  compassion  an  old 
gentleman  in  the  cabin  making  a  hearty  meal  of  sar 
dines  and  fruit-pie,  and  I  asked  him  if  he  had  ever 
been  at  sea.  No,  he  said.  I  could  have  wept  over 
that  innocent  old  gentleman's  childlike  confidence 
of  appetite,  and  guileless  trust  of  the  deep. 

We  went  on  deck,  where  one  of  the  gentle  beings 


56  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

of  our  party  declared  that  she  would  remain  as  long 
as  Genoa  was  in  sight  ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  the 
scene  was  worthy  of  the  promised  devotion.  There, 
in  a  half-circle  before  us,  blazed  the  lights  of  the 
quay  ;  above  these  twinkled  the  lamps  of  the  steep 
streets  and  climbing  palaces  ;  over  and  behind  all 
hung  the  darkness  on  the  heights,  — a  sable  cloud 
dotted  with  ruddy  points  of  flame  burning  in  the 
windows  of  invisible  houses. 

"  Merrily  did  we  drop  " 

down  the  bay,  and  presently  caught  the  heavy  swell 
of  the  open  sea.  The  other  gentle  being  of  our 
party  then  clutched  my  shoulder  with  a  dreadful 
shudder,  and  after  gasping,  "  O  Mr.  Scribbler,  why 
will  the  ship  roll  so  ?  "  was  meekly  hurried  below 
by  her  sister,  who  did  not  return  for  a  last  glimpse 
of  Genoa  the  Proud. 

In  a  moment  heaven's  sweet  pity  flapped  away 
as  with  the  sea-gull's  wings,  and  I  too  felt  that 
there  was  no  help  for  it,  and  that  I  must  go  and  lie 
down  in  the  cabin.  With  anguished  eyes  I  beheld 
upon  the  shelf  opposite  to  mine  the  innocent  old 
gentleman  who  had  lately  supped  so  confidently 
on  sardines  and  fruit-pie.  He  lay  upon  his  back, 
groaning  softly  to  himself. 


•-  j^_       .  «— •  M-» 

t*A  -*~ "  ~~" 


VI.  BY  SEA  FROM  GENOA  TO  NAPLES 


OUR  captain  would  in  any  company  have  won 
notice  for  his  gentle  and  high-bred  way ;  in 
his  place  at  the  head  of  the  table,  he  seemed  to  me 
one  of  the  finest  gentlemen  I  had  ever  seen.  He 
had  spent  his  whole  life  at  sea,  and  had  voyaged  in 
all  parts  of  the  world  except  Japan,  where  he  meant 
some  day,  he  said,  to  go.  He  had  been  first  a  cabin- 
boy  on  a  little  Genoese  schooner,  and  he  had  grad 
ually  risen  to  the  first  place  on  a  sailing-vessel,  and 
now  he  had  been  selected  to  fill  a  commander's 
post  on  this  line  of  steamers.  He  had  sailed  a  good 
deal  in  American  waters,  but  chiefly  on  the  Pacific 
coast,  trading  from  the  Spanish  republican  ports  to 
those  of  California.  He  had  been  in  that  State 


58  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

during  its  effervescent  days,  when  everything  foul 
floated  to  the  top,  and  I  am  afraid  he  formed  there 
but  a  bad  opinion  of  our  people,  though  he  was  far 
too  courteous  to  say  outright  anything  of  this  sort. 

He  had  very  fine,  shrewd  blue  eyes,  a  lean, 
weather-beaten,  kindly  face,  and  a  cautious  way  of 
saying  things.  I  hardly  expected  him  to  turn  out 
so  red-hot  a  Democrat  as  he  did  on  better  acquaint 
ance,  but  being  a  warm  friend  of  man  myself,  I 
was  not  sorry.  Garibaldi  was  the  beginning  and 
ending  of  his  political  faith,  as  he  is  with  every  en 
thusiastic  Italian.  The  honest  soul's  conception  of 
all  concrete  evil  was  brought  forth  in  two  words,  of 
odd  enough  application.  In  Europe,  and  Italy  more 
particularly,  true  men  have  suffered  chiefly  from 
this  form  of  evil,  and  the  captain  evidently  could 
conceive  of  no  other  cause  of  suffering  anywhere. 
We  were  talking  of  the  American  war,  and  when 
the  captain  had  asked  the  usual  question,  "  Quando 
finira  mat  questa  guerra  ? "  and  I  responded  as 
usual,  "  A/i,  ci  vuol  pazienza  !  "  the  captain  gave  a 
heavy  sigh,  and,  turning  his  head  pensively  aside, 
plucked  his  grapes  from  the  cluster  a  moment  in 
silence. 

Then  he  said  :  "  You  Americans  are  in  the  habit 
of  attributing  this  war  to  slavery.  The  cause  is  not 
sufficient." 

I  ventured  to  demur  and  explain.  "  No,"  said  the 
captain,  "  the  cause  is  not  sufficient.  We  Italians 
know  the  only  cause  which  could  produce  a  war  like 
this." 


FROM    GENOA   TO   NAPLES       59 

I  was  naturally  anxious  to  be  instructed  in  the 
Italian  theory,  hoping  it  might  be  profounder  than 
the  English  notion  that  we  were  fighting  about 
tariffs. 

The  captain  frowned,  looked  at  me  carefully,  and 
then  said  :  — 

"  In  this  world  there  is  but  one  cause  of  mischief, 
—  the  Jesuits." 

ii 

THE  first  night  out,  from  Genoa  to  Leghorn,  was 
bad  enough,  but  that  which  succeeded  our  departure 
from  the  latter  port  was  by  far  the  worst  of  the  three 
we  "spent  in  our  voyage  to  Naples.  How  we  envied 
the  happy  people  who  went  ashore  at  Leghorn  !  I 
think  we  even  envied  the  bones  of  the  Venetians, 
Pisans,  and  Genoese  who  met  and  slew  each  other 
in  the  long-forgotten  sea-fights,  and  sank  too  deeply 
through  the  waves  to  be  stirred  by  their  restless 
tumult.  Every  one  has  heard  tell  of  how  cross  and 
treacherous  a  sea  the  Mediterranean  is  in  winter,  and 
my  own  belief  is  that  he  who  has  merely  been  sea 
sick  on  the  Atlantic  should  give  the  Mediterranean  a 
trial  before  professing  to  have  suffered  everything  of 
which  human  nature  is  capable.  Our  steamer  was 
clean  enough  and  stanch  enough,  but  she  was  not 
large  —  no  bigger,  I  thought,  than  a  gondola,  that 
night  as  the  waves  tossed  her  to  and  fro,  till  unwinged 
things  took  flight  all  through  her  cabins  and  over  her 
decks.  My  berth  was  placed  transversely  instead  of 
lengthwise  with  the  boat,  —  an  ingenious  arrange- 


60  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

ment  to  heighten  seasick  horrors,  and  dash  the  blood 
of  the  sufferer  from  brain  to  boots  with  exaggerated 
violence  at  each  roll  of  the  boat ;  and  I  begged  the 
steward  to  let  me  sleep  upon  one  of  the  lockers  in 
the  cabin.     I  found  many  of  my  agonized  species 
already  laid  out  there  ;  and  there  was  something 
eldritch  and  unearthly  in  the  whole  business,  and  I 
think  a  kind  of  delirium  must  have  resulted  from 
the  seasickness.     Otherwise,  I  shall  not  know  how 
to  account  for  having  attributed  a  kind  of  conscious 
ness  to  the  guide-book  of  a  young  American  who 
had  come  aboard  at  Leghorn.    He  turned  out  after 
ward  to  be  the  sweetest  soul  in  the  world,  and  I  am 
sorry  now  that  I  regarded  with  amusement  his  failure 
to  smoke  off  his  sickness.    He  was  reading  his  guide 
book  with  great  diligence  and  unconcern,  when  sud 
denly  I  marked  him  lay  it  softly,  softly  down,  with 
that  excessive  deliberation  which  men  use  at  such 
times,  and  vanish  with  great  dignity  from  the  scene. 
Thus  abandoned  to  its  own  devices,  the  guide-book 
began  its  night-long  riots,  setting  out  upon  a  tour  of 
the  cabin  with  the  first  lurch  of  the  boat  that  threw 
it  from  the  table  upon  the  floor.    I  heard  it  careen  at 
once  wildly  to  the  cabin  door,  and  knock  to  get  out ; 
and  failing  in  this,  return  more  deliberately  to  the 
stern  of  the  boat,  interrogating  the  tables  and  chairs, 
which  had  got  their  sea-legs  on,  and  asking  them  how 
they  found  themselves.     Arrived  again  at  the  point 
of  starting,  it  seemed  to  pause  a  moment,  and  then  I 
saw  it  setting  forth  on  a  voyage  of  pleasure  in  the 
low  company  of  a  French  hat,  which,  being  itself  a 


FROM   GENOA   TO   NAPLES      61 

French  book,  I  suppose  it  liked.  In  these  travels 
they  both  ran  under  the  feet  of  one  of  the  stewards 
and  were  replaced  by  an  immense  tour  de  force  on 
the  table,  from  which  the  book  eloped  again,  —  this 
time  in  company  with  an  overcoat ;  but  it  seemed 
the  coat  was  too  miserable  to  go  far :  it  stretched 
itself  at  full  length  on  the  floor,  and  suffered  the 
book  to  dance  over  it,  back  and  forth,  I  know  not 
how  many  times.  At  last,  as  the  actions  of  the 
book  were  becoming  unendurable,  and  the  general 
seasickness  was  waxing  into  a  frenzy,  a  heavy  roll, 
that  made  the  whole  ship  shriek  and  tremble,  threw 
us  all  from  our  lockers  ;  and  gathering  myself  up, 
bruised  and  sore  in  every  fibre,  I  lay  down  again 
and  became  sensible  of  a  blissful,  blissful  lull ;  the 
machinery  had  stopped,  and  with  the  mute  hope 
that  we  were  all  going  to  the  bottom,  I  fell  tran 
quilly  asleep. 

in 

IT  appeared  that  the  storm  had  really  been  dan 
gerous.  Instead  of  being  only  six  hours  from 
Naples,  as  we  ought  to  be  at  this  time,  we  were  got 
no  further  than  Porto  Longone,  in  the  Isle  of  Elba. 
We  woke  in  a  quiet,  sheltered  little  bay,  whence 
we  could  only  behold,  not  feel,  the  storm  left  far 
out  upon  the  open  sea.  From  this  we  turned  our 
heavy  eyes  gladly  to  the  shore,  where  a  white  little 
town  was  settled,  like  a  flight  of  gulls  upon  the 
beach,  at  the  feet  of  green  and  pleasant  hills,  whose 
gentle  lines  rhymed  softly  away  against  the  sky. 


62  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

At  the  end  of  either  arm  of  the  embracing  land  in 
which  we  lay,  stood  gray,  placid  old  forts,  with 
peaceful  sentries  pacing  their  bastions,  and  weary 
ships  creeping  round  their  feet,  under  guns  looking 
out  so  kindly  and  harmlessly,  that  I  think  General 
himself  would  not  have  hesitated  (except,  per 
haps,  from  a  profound  sentiment  of  regret  for  offer 
ing  the  violence)  to  attack  them.  Our  port  was 
full  of  frightened  shipping  —  steamers,  brigs,  and 
schooners  —  of  all  sizes  and  nations  ;  and  since  it 
was  our  misfortune  that  Napoleon  spent  his  exile 
in  Elba  at  Porto  Ferrato  instead  Porto  Longone, 
we  amused  ourselves  with  looking  at  the  vessels 
and  the  white  town  and  the  soft  hills,  instead  of 
hunting  up  dead  lion's  tracks. 

Our  fellow  passengers  began  to  develop  them 
selves  :  the  regiment  of  soldiers  whom  we  were 
transporting  picturesquely  breakfasted  forward,  and 
the  second-cabin  people  came  aft  to  our  deck,  while 
the  English  engineer  (there  are  English  engineers 
on  all  the  Mediterranean  steamers)  planted  a  camp- 
stool  in  a  sunny  spot,  and  sat  down  to  read  the 
"  Birmingham  Express." 

Our  friends  of  the  second  cabin  were  chiefly  offi 
cers  with  their  wives  and  families,  and  they  talked 
for  the  most  part  of  their  sufferings  during  the 
night.  They  spoke  such  exquisite  Italian  that  I 
thought  them  Tuscans,  but  they  told  me  they 
were  of  Sicily,  where  their  beautiful  speech  first 
had  life.  Let  us  hear  what  they  talked  of  in  their 
divine  language,  and  with  that  ineffable  tonic  accent 


assM*  Jjli  /• 

_-^ml^lMz<  i  .h 


FROM    GENOA   TO   NAPLES       63 

which  no  foreigner  perfectly  acquires,  and  let  us  for 
once  translate  the  profanities  Pagan  and  Christian, 
which  adorn  common  parlance  in  Italy  :  — 

"  Ah,  my  God  !  how  much  I  suffered  !  "  says  a 
sweet  little  woman  with  gentle  brown  eyes,  red,  red 
lips,  and  blameless  Greek  lines  of  face.  "  I  broke 
two  basins  !  " 

"  There  were  ten  broken  in  all,  by  Diana  !  "  says 
this  lady's  sister. 

"  Presence  of  the  Devil !  "  says  her  husband  ;  and 

"  Body  of  Bacchus  !  "  her  young  brother,  puffing 
his  cigar. 

"  And  you,  sir,"  said  the  lady,  turning  to  a  hand 
some  young  fellow  in  civil  dress,  near  her,  "how 
did  you  pass  this  horrible  night  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  "  says  the  young  man,  twirling  his  heavy 
blond  mustache,  "  mighty  well,  mighty  well !  " 

"  Oh,  mercy  of  God  !     You  were  not  sick  ? " 

"  I,  signora,  am  never  seasick.  I  am  of  the 
navy." 

At  which  they  all  cry  oh,  and  ah,  and  declare 
they  are  glad  of  it,  though  why  they  should  have 
been  I  don't  know  to  this  day. 

"  I  have  often  wished,"  added  the  young  man 
meditatively,  and  in  a  serious  tone,  as  if  he  had 
indeed  given  the  subject  much  thought,  "  that  it 
might  please  God  to  let  me  be  seasick  once,  if  only 
that  I  might  know  how  it  feels.  But  no ! "  He 
turned  the  conversation,  as  if  his  disappointment 
were  too  sore  to  dwell  upon  ;  and  hearing  our  Eng 
lish,  he  made  out  to  let  us  know  that  he  had  been 


64  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

at  New  York,  and  could  spik  our  language,  which 
he  proceeded  to  do,  to  the  great  pride  of  his  country 
men. 

IV 

WE  set  out  from  Porto  Longone  that  night  at 
eight  o'clock,  and  next  evening,  driving  through 
much-abated  storm  southward  into  calm  waters  and 
clear  skies,  reached  Naples.  At  noon,  Monte  Circeo, 
where  Circe  led  her  disreputable  life,  was  a  majestic 
rock  against  blue  heaven  and  broken  clouds  ;  after 
nightfall,  and  under  the  risen  moon,  Vesuvius  crept 
softly  up  from  the  sea,  and  stood  a  graceful  steep, 
with  wreaths  of  lightest  cloud  upon  its  crest,  and 
the  city  lamps  circling  far  round  its  bay. 


VII.    CERTAIN  THINGS  IN  NAPLES 


PERHAPS  some  reader  of  mine  who  visited 
Naples  under  the  old  disorder  of  things,  when 
the  Bourbon  and  the  Camorra  reigned,  will  like  to 
hear  that  the  pitched  battle  which  travelers  formerly 
fought,  in  landing  from  their  steamer,  is  now  gone 
out  of  fashion.  Less  truculent  boatmen  I  never  saw 
than  those  who  rowed  us  ashore  at  Naples ;  they 
were  so  quiet  and  peaceful  that  they  harmonized 
perfectly  with  that  tranquil  scene  of  drowsy-twink 
ling  city  lights,  slumbrous  mountains,  and  calm  sea, 
as  they  dipped  softly  toward  us  in  the  glare  of  the 
steamer's  lamps.  The  mystery  of  this  placidity  had 
been  already  solved  by  our  captain,  whom  I  had 
asked  what  price  I  should  bargain  to  pay  from  the 
steamer  to  the  shore.  "There  is  a  tariff,"  said  he, 


66  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

"  and  the  boatmen  keep  to  it.     The  Neapolitans  are 
good  people  (buona  gentc\  and  only  needed  justice 
to  make  them  obedient  to  the  laws."     I  must  say 
that  I  found  this  to  be  true.     The  fares  of  all  public 
conveyances  are  now  fixed,  and  the  attempts  which 
drivers  occasionally  make  to  cheat  you  seem  to  be 
rather  the  involuntary  impulses  of  old  habit  than 
deliberate  intentions  to  do   you  wrong.     You  pay 
what  is  due,  and  as  your  man  merely  rumbles  inter 
nally  when  you  turn  away,  you  must  be  a  very  timid 
signorin,  indeed,  if  you  buy  his  content  with  any 
thing  more.     I  fancy  that  all  these  things  are  now 
much  better   managed  in  Italy  than   in    America, 
only  we  grumble  at  them  there  and  stand  them  in 
silence  at  home.     Every  one  can  recall  frightful  in 
stances  of  plunder,  in  which  he  was  the  victim,  at 
New  York  — in  which  the  robbery  had  none  of  the 
neatness  of  an  operation,  as  it  often  has  in  Italy,  but 
was  a  brutal  mutilation.     And  then  as  regards  civil 
ity  from  the  same  kind  of  people  in  the  two  coun 
tries,  there  is  no  comparison  that  holds  in  favor  of 
us.    'All  questions  are  readily  and  politely  answered 
in  Italian  travel,  and  the  servants  of  companies  are 
required  to  be  courteous  to  the  public,  whereas  one 
is  only  too  glad  to  receive  a  silent  snub  from  such 
people  at  home. 


ii 


THE  first  sun  that  rose  after  our  arrival  in  Naples 
was  mild  and  warm  as  a  May  sun,  though  we  were 
quite  in  the  heart  of  November.  We  early  strolled 


CERTAIN    THINGS    IN   NAPLES     67 

out  under  it  into  the  crowded  ways  of  the  city,  and 
drew  near  as  we  might  to  that  restless,  thronging 
gossiping  southern  life,  in  contrast  with  which  all 
northern  existence  seems  only  a  sort  of  hibernation. 
The  long  Toledo,  on  which  the  magnificence  of  mod 
ern  Naples  is  threaded,  is  the  most  brilliant  and  joy 
ous  street  in  the  world  ;  but  I  think  there  is  less  of 
the  quaintness  of  Italian  civilization  to  be  seen  in  its 
vivacious  crowds  than  anywhere  else  in  Italy.  One 
easily  understands  how,  with  its  superb  length  and 
straightness,  and  its  fine,  respectable,  commonplace- 
looking  houses,  it  should  be  the  pride  of  a  people 
fond  of  show  ;  but  after  Venice  and  Genoa  it  has  no 
picturesque  charm  ;  nay,  even  busy  Milan  seems  less 
modern  and  more  picturesque.  The  lines  of  the 
lofty  palaces  on  the  Toledo  are  seldom  broken  by 
the  facade  of  a  church  or  other  public  edifice  ;  and 
when  this  does  happen,  the  building  is  sure  to  be 
coldly  classic  or  frantically  baroque. 

You  weary  of  the  Toledo's  perfect  repair,  of  its 
monotonous  iron  balconies,  its  monotonous  lofty  win 
dows  ;  and  it  would  be  insufferable  if  you  could  not 
turn  out  from  it  at  intervals  into  one  of  those  won 
drous  little  streets  which  branch  up  on  one  hand  and 
down  on  the  other,  rising  and  falling  with  flights  of 
steps  between  the  high,  many-balconied  walls.  They 
ring  all  day  with  the  motleyest  life  of  fishermen, 
fruit -venders,  chestnut-roasters,  and  idlers  of  every 
age  and  sex  ;  and  there  is  nothing  so  full  of  local 
color,  unless  it  be  the  little  up-and-down-hill  streets 
in  Genoa.  Like  those,  the  by-streets  of  Naples  are 


68  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

meant  only  for  foot-passengers,  and  a  carriage  never 
enters  them  ;  but  sometimes,  you  may  see  a  mule 
climbing  the  long  stairways,  moving  solemnly  under 
a  stack  of  straw,  or  tinkling  gayly  downstairs,  be 
stridden  by  a  swarthy,  handsome  peasant  —  all  glit 
tering  teeth  and  eyes  and  flaming  Phrygian  cap. 
The  rider  exchanges  lively  salutations  and  sarcasms 
with  the  bystanders  in  his  way,  and  perhaps  brushes 
against  the  bagpipers  who  bray  constantly  in  those 
hilly  defiles.  They  are  in  Neapolitan  costume,  these 
piffcrari,  and  have  their  legs  incomprehensibly  tied 
up  in  the  stockings  and  garters  affected  by  the  pea 
santry  of  the  provinces,  and  wear  brave  red  sashes 
about  their  waists.  They  are  simple,  harmless 
looking  people,  and  would  no  doubt  rob  and  kill  in 
the  most  amiable  manner,  if  brigandage  came  into 
fashion  in  their  neighborhood. 

Sometimes  the  student  of  men  may  witness  a  Nea 
politan  quarrel  in  these  streets,  and  may  pick  up  use 
ful  ideas  of  invective  from  the  remarks  of  the  fat  old 
women  who  always  take  part  in  the  contests.  But, 
though  we  were  ten  days  in  Naples,  I  only  saw  one 
quarrel,  and  I  could  have  heard  much  finer  violence 
of  language  among  the  gondoliers  at  any  ferry  in 
Venice  than  I  heard  in  this  altercation. 

The  Neapolitans  are,  of  course,  furious  in  traffic. 
They  sell  a  great  deal,  and  very  boisterously,  the 
fruit  of  the  cactus,  which  is  about  as  large  as  an  egg, 
and  which  they  peel  to  a  very  bloody  pulp,  and  lay 
out,  a  sanguinary  presence,  on  boards  for  purchase. 
It  is  not  good  to  the  uncultivated  taste;  but  the 


NAPLES,  STREET  WITH   STEPS 


CERTAIN    THINGS    IN    NAPLES     69 

stranger  may  stop  and  drink,  with  relish  and  refresh 
ment,  the  orangeade  and  lemonade  mixed  with  snow 
and  sold  at  the  little  booths  on  the  street  corners. 
These  stands  look  much  like  the  shrines  of  the  Ma 
donna  in  other  Italian  cities,  and  a  friend  of  ours 
was  led,  before  looking  carefully  into  their  office,  to 
argue  immense  Neapolitan  piety  from  the  frequency 
of  their  ecclesiastical  architecture.  They  are,  in 
deed,  the  shrines  of  a  god  much  worshiped  during 
the  long  Neapolitan  summers  ;  and  it  was  the  pro 
found  theory  of  the  Bourbon  kings  of  Naples,  that, 
if  they  kept  their  subjects  well  supplied  with  snow 
to  cool  their  drink,  there  was  no  fear  of  revolution. 
It  shows  how  liable  statesmen  are  to  err,  that,  after 
all,  the  Neapolitans  rose,  drove  out  the  Bourbons, 
and  welcomed  Garibaldi. 

The  only  part  of  the  picturesque  life  of  the  side 
streets  which  seems  ever  to  issue  from  them  into 
the  Toledo  is  the  goatherd  with  his  flock  of  milch- 
goats,  which  mingle  with  the  passers  in  the  avenues 
as  familiarly  as  with  those  of  the  alley,  and  thrust 
aside  silk-hidden  hoops,  and  brush  against  dandies' 
legs  in  their  course,  but  keep  on  perfect  terms  with 
everybody.  The  goatherd  leads  the  eldest  of  the 
flock,  and  the  rest  follow  in  docile  order,  and  stop 
as  he  stops  to  ask  at  the  doors  if  milk  is  wanted. 
When  he  happens  to  have  an  order,  one  of  the  goats 
is  haled,  much  against  her  will,  into  the  entry  of  a 
house,  and  there  milked,  while  the  others  wait  out 
side  alone,  nibbling  and  smelling  thoughtfully  about 
the  masonry.  It  is  noticeable  that  none  of  the  good- 


70  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

natured  passers  seem  to  think  these  goats  a  great 
nuisance  in  the  crowded  street ;  but  all  make  way 
for  them  as  if  they  were  there  by  perfect  right,  and 
were  no  inconvenience. 

On  the  Toledo,  people  keep  upon  the  narrow 
sidewalks,  or  strike  out  into  the  carriageway,  with 
an  indifference  to  hoofs  and  wheels  which  one,  after 
long  residence  in  tranquil  Venice,  cannot  acquire,  in 
view  of  the  furious  Neapolitan  driving.  That  old 
comprehensive  gig  of  Naples,  with  which  many  pens 
and  pencils  have  familiarized  the  reader,  is  nearly  as 
hard  to  find  there  now  as  the  lazzaroni,  who  have 
gone  out  altogether.  You  may  still  see  it  in  the 
remoter  quarters  of  the  city,  with  its  complement  of 
twelve  passengers  to  one  horse,  distributed,  two  on 
each  thill,  four  on  the  top  seats,  one  at  each  side, 
and  two  behind  ;  but  in  the  Toledo  it  has  given 
place  to  much  finer  vehicles.  Slight  buggies,  which 
take  you  anywhere  for  half  a  franc,  are  the  favorite 
means  of  public  conveyance,  and  the  private  turn 
outs  are  of  every  description  and  degree.  Indeed, 
all  the  Neapolitans  take  to  carriages,  and  the  Strand 
in  London  at  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  is  not  a 
greater  jam  of  wheels  than  the  Toledo  in  the  after 
noon.  Shopping  feels,  the  expansive  influence  of 
the  out-of-doors  life,  and  ladies  do  most  of  it  as  they 
sit  in  their  open  carriages  at  the  shop-doors,  minis 
tered  to  by  the  neat-handed  shopmen.  They  are 
very  languid  ladies,  as  they  recline  upon  their  car 
riage  cushions ;  they  are  all  black-eyed,  and  of  an 
olive  pallor,  and  have  gloomy  rings  .about  their 


CERTAIN  THINGS   IN   NAPLES     71 

fine  eyes,  like  the  dark-faced  dandies  who  bow  to 
them.  This  Neapolitan  look  is  very  curious,  and  I 
have  not  seen  it  elsewhere  in  Italy ;  it  is  a  look  of 
peculiar  pensiveness,  and  comes,  no  doubt,  from 
the  peculiarly  heavy  growth  of  lashes  which  fringes 
the  lower  eyelid.  Then  there  is  the  weariness  in  it 
of  all  peoples  whose  summers  are  fierce  and  long. 

As  the  Italians  usually  dress  beyond  their  means, 
the  dandies  of  Naples  are  very  gorgeous.  If  it  is 
now,  say,  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  they  are  all 
coming  down  the  Toledo  with  the  streams  of  car 
riages  bound  for  the  long  drive  around  the  bay. 
But  our  foot-passers  go  to  walk  in  the  beautiful  Villa 
Reale,  between  this  course  and  the  sea.  The  Villa 
is  a  slender  strip  of  Paradise,  a  mile  long ;  it  is  rap 
ture  to  walk  in  it,  and  it  comes,  in  description,  to 
be  a  garden-grove,  with  feathery  palms,  Greekish 
temples,  musical  fountains,  white  statues  of  the  gods, 
and  groups  of  fair  girls  in  spring  silks.  If  I  remem 
ber  aright,  the  sun  is  always  setting  on  the  bay,  and 
you  cannot  tell  whether  this  sunset  is  cooled  by  the 
water  or  the  water  is  warmed  by  the  golden  light 
upon  it,  and  upon  the  city,  and  upon  all  the  soft 
mountain-heights  around. 

in 

WALKING  westward  through  the  whole  length  of 
the  Villa  Reale,  and  keeping  with  the  crescent  shore 
of  the  bay,  you  come,  after  a  while,  to  the  Grot  of 
Posilippo,  which  is  not  a  grotto  but  a  tunnel  cut  for 
a  carriageway  under  the  hill.  It  serves,  however, 


72  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

the  purpose  of  a  grotto,  if  a  grotto  has  any,  and  is 
of  great  length  and  dimness  and  is  all  a-twinkle 
night  and  day  with  numberless  lamps.  Overlooking 
the  street  which  passes  into  it  is  the  tomb  of  Virgil, 
and  it  is  this  you  have  come  to  see.  To  reach  it, 
you  knock  first  at  the  door  of  a  blacksmith,  who 
calls  a  species  of  custodian,  and,  when  this  latter 
has  opened  a  gate  in  a  wall,  you  follow  him  up 
stairs  into  a  market-garden. 

In  one  corner,  and  standing  in  a  leafy  and  grassy 
shelter  somewhat  away  from  the  vegetables,  is  the 
poet's  tomb,  which  has  a  kind  of  claim  to  genuine 
ness  by  virtue  of  its  improbable  appearance.  It 
looks  more  like  a  bake-oven  than  even  the  Pompeian 
tombs ;  the  masonry  is  antique,  and  is  at  least  in 
skillful  imitation  of  the  fine  Roman  work.  The 
interior  is  a  small  chamber  with  vaulted  or  wagon- 
roof  ceiling,  under  which  a  man  may  stand  upright, 
and  at  the  end  next  the  street  is  a  little  stone,  com 
memorating  the  place  as  Virgil's  tomb,  which  was 
placed  there  by  the  Queen  of  France  in  1 840,  and 
said  by  the  custodian  to  be  an  exact  copy  of  the 
original,  whatever  the  original  may  have  been. 
This  guide  could  tell  us  nothing  more  about  it,  and 
was  too  stupidly  honest  to  pretend  to  know  more. 
The  laurel  planted  by  Petrarch  at  the  door  of  the 
tomb,  and  renewed  in  later  times  by  Casimir  Dela- 
vigne,  has  been  succeeded  by  a  third  laurel.  The 
present  twig  was  so  slender,  and  looked  so  friendless 
and  unprotected,  that  even  enthusiasm  for  the  mem 
ory  of  two  poets  could  not  be  brought  to  rob  it  of 


*&*** 


V\\V  ' \Vi\\       i3  ?    T** 

m*f     **?«* 

Ife 

W4II-'IW 


'^^RPl^'^lw1)' 


GROTTO  OF  POSILIPPO 


CERTAIN   THINGS   IN   NAPLES     73 

one  of  its  few  leaves ;  and  we  contented  ourselves 
with  plucking  some  of  the  grass  and  weeds  that 
grew  abundantly  on  the  roof  of  the  tomb. 

There  was  a  dusty  quiet  within  the  tomb,  and  a 
grassy  quiet  without,  that  pleased  exceedingly ;  but 
though  the  memories  of  the  place  were  so  high  and 
epic,  it  only   suggested   bucolic   associations,  and, 
sunken  into  that  nook  of  hillside  verdure,  made  me 
think   of   a   spring-house  on  some   far-away   Ohio 
farm  ;  a  thought  that,  perhaps,  would  not  have  of 
fended  the   poet,  who  loved  and  sang   of  humble 
country   things,  and,  drawing   wearily  to   his  rest 
here,  no  doubt  turned  and  remembered  tenderly  the 
rustic  days  before  the  excellent  veterans  of  Augus 
tus  came  to  exile  him  from  his  father's  farm  at 
Mantua,  and  banish  him  to  mere  glory.     But  I  be 
lieve  most  travelers  have  much  nobler  sensations 
in  Virgil's  tomb,  and  there  is  a  great  deal  of  tes 
timony  borne  to  their   lofty  sentiments  on  every 
scribbleable  inch  of  its  walls.     Valery  reminded  me 
that  Boccaccio,  standing  near  it  of  old,  first  felt  his 
fate  decided  for  literature.     Did  he  come  there,  I 
wonder,  with  poor  Fiammetta,  and  enter  the  tomb 
with  her  tender  hand  in  his,  before  ever  he  thought 
of   that    cruel    absence   she  tells  of?     "O    donne 
pietose !  "    I  hope  so,  and  that  this  pilgrimage,  half 
of  love  and  half  of  letters,  took  place,  "  nel  tempo 
nel  quale  la  rivestita  terra  pi*  che  tutto  1'altro  anno 
si  mostra  bella." 

If  you  ascend  from  the  tomb  and  turn  Naples- 
ward  from  the  crest  of  the  hill,  you  have  the  loveli- 


74  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

est  view  in  the  world  of  the  sea  and  of  the  crescent 
beach,  mightily  jeweled  at  its  further  horn  with  the 
black  Castel  dell'  Ovo.  Fishermen's  children  are 
playing  all  along  the  foamy  border  of  the  sea,  and 
boats  are  darting  out  into  the  surf.  The  present 
humble  muse  is  not  above  saying  also  that  the  linen 
which  the  laundresses  hang  to  dry  upon  lines  along 
the  beach  takes  the  sun  like  a  dazzling  flight  of 
white  birds,  and  gives  a  breezy  life  to  the  scene 
which  it  could  not  spare. 

IV 

THERE  was  a  little  church  on  our  way  back  from 
Posilippo,  into  which  we  lounged  a  moment,  pausing 
at  the  altar  of  some  very  successful  saint  near  the 
door.  Here  there  were  great  numbers  of  the  usual 
offerings  from  the  sick  whom  the  saint  had  eased  of 
their  various  ills,  —  waxen  legs  and  arms  from 
people  who  had  been  in  peril  of  losing  their  limbs, 
as  well  as  eyes,  noses,  fingers,  and  feet,  and  the 
crutches  of  those  cured  of  lameness ;  but  we  were 
most  amused  with  the  waxen  effigies  of  several  en 
tire  babies  hung  up  about  the  altar,  which  the  poor 
souls  who  had  been  near  losing  the  originals  had 
brought  there  in  gratitude  to  the  saint. 

Generally,  however,  the  churches  of  Naples  are 
not  very  interesting,  and  one  who  came  away  with 
out  seeing  them  would  have  little  to  regret.  The 
pictures  are  seldom  good,  and  though  there  are  mag 
nificent  chapels  in  St.  Januarius,  and  fine  Gothic 
tombs  at  Santa  Chiara,  the  architecture  is  usually 


CERTAIN   THINGS   IN   NAPLES     75 

rococo.  I  fancy  that  Naples  has  felt  the  damage 
of  Spanish  taste  in  such  things  as  well  as  Spanish 
tyranny  in  others.  At  any  rate,  all  Italian  writers 
are  agreed  in  attributing  the  depravation  of  Naples 
to  the  long  Spanish  dominion.  It  is  well  known 
how  the  Spaniards  rule  their  provinces,  and  their 
gloomy  despotism  was  probably  never  more  cruelly 
felt  than  in  Italy,  where  the  people  were  least  able 
to  bear  it.  I  had  a  heartfelt  exultation  in  walking 
through  the  quarter  of  the  city  where  the  tumults 
of  Nassaniello  had  raged,  and,  if  only  for  a  few  days, 
struck  mortal  terror  to  the  brutal  pride  of  the  vice 
roy  ;  but  I  think  I  had  a  better  sense  of  the  im 
mense  retribution  which  has  overtaken  all  memory 
of  Spanish  rule  in  Naples  as  we  passed  through  the 
palace  of  Capo  di  Monte.  This  was  the  most  splen 
did  seat  of  the  Spanish  Bourbon,  whose  family,  in 
heriting  its  power  from  the  violence  of  other  times, 
held  it  with  violence  in  these ;  and  in  one  of  the 
chief  saloons  of  the  palace,  which  is  now  Victor 
Emanuel's,  were  pictures  representing  scenes  of 
the  revolution  of  1860,  while  the  statuette  of  a  Gari- 
baldino,  in  his  red  shirt  and  all  his  heroic  rudeness, 
was  defiantly  conspicuous  on  one  of  the  tables. 


THERE  was  nothing  else  that  pleased  me  as  well 
in  the  palace,  or  in  the  grounds  about  it.  These 
are  laid  out  in  pleasant  successions  of  grove,  tan 
gled  wilderness,  and  pasture-land,  and  were  thronged, 
the  Saturday  afternoon  of  our  visit,  with  all  ranks 


76  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

of  people,  who  strolled  through  the  beautiful  walks 
and  enjoyed  themselves  in  the  peculiarly  peaceful 
Italian  way.  Valery  says  that  the  Villa  Reale  in 
the  Bourbon  time  was  closed,  except  for  a  single 
day  in  the  year,  to  all  but  the  nobles ;  and  that  on 
this  occasion  it  was  filled  with  pretty  peasant  wo 
men,  who  made  it  a  condition  of  their  marriage 
bargains  that  their  husbands  should  bring  them  to 
the  Villa  Reale  on  St.  Mary's  Day.  It  is  now  Tree 
to  all  on  every  day  of  the  year,  and  the  grounds  of 
the  Palace  Capo  di  Monte  are  opened  every  Satur 
day.  I  liked  the  pleasant  way  in  which  sylvan 
Nature  and  Art  had  made  friends  in  these  beauti 
ful  grounds,  in  which  Nature  had  consented  to 
overlook  the  vanity  of  the  long  aisles  of  lime,  cut 
and  trimmed  in  formal  and  fantastic  shapes,  accord 
ing  to  the  taste  of  the  times  of  bagwigs  and  patches. 
On  every  side  wild  birds  fluttered  through  these  ab 
surd  trees,  and  in  the  thickets  lurked  innumerable 
pheasants,  which  occasionally  issued  forth  and 
stalked  in  stately,  fearless  groups  over  the  sunset- 
crimsoned  lawns.  There  was  a  brown  gamekeeper 
for  nearly  every  head  of  game,  wearing  a  pheasant's 
wing  in  his  hat  and  carrying  a  short,  heavy  sword ; 
and  our  driver  told  us,  with  an  awful  solemnity  in 
his  bated  breath,  that  no  one  might  kill  this  game 
but  the  king,  under  penalty  of  the  galleys. 

VI 

THE  Italians  are  simple  and  natural  folks,  pleased 
through  all  their  show  of  conventionality  with  little 


CERTAIN   THINGS    IN   NAPLES     77 

things,  and  as  easy  and  unconscious  as  children  in 
their   ways.     There  happened   to  be   a  new  caffe 
opened  in  Naples  while  we  were  there,  and  we  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  all  ranks  of  people  affected  by 
its  magnificence.    Artless  throngs  blocked  the  side 
walk  day  and  night  before  its  windows,  gazing  upon 
its  mirrors,  fountains,  and  frescoes,  and  regarding 
the  persons  over  their  coffee  within  as  beings  lifted 
by  sudden  magic  out  of  the  common  orbit  of  life 
and  set  dazzling  in  a  higher  sphere.    All  the  waiters 
were  uniformed  and  brass-buttoned  to  blinding  ef 
fect,  and  the  head  waiter  was  a  majestic  creature  in 
a  long  blue  coat  reaching  to  his  feet,  and  armed 
with  a  mighty  silver-headed  staff.     This  gorgeous 
apparition  did  nothing  but  walk  up  and  down,  and 
occasionally  advance  toward  the  door,  as  if  to  dis 
perse  the  crowds.     At  such  times,  however,  before 
executing  his  purpose,  he  would  glance  round  on 
the  splendors  they  were  admiring,  and,  as  if  smitten 
with  a  sense  of  the  enormous  cruelty  he  had  medi 
tated  in  thinking  to  deprive  them  of  the  sight,  would 
falter  and  turn  away,  leaving  his  intent  unfulfilled. 


VIII.     A  DAY  IN  POMPEII 


ON  the  second  morning  after  our  arrival  in  Na 
ples,  we  took  the  seven  o'clock  train,  which 
leaves  the  Nineteenth  Century  for  the  first  cycle 
of  the  Christian  Era,  and,  skirting  the  waters  of  the 
Neapolitan  bay  almost  the  whole  length  of  our  jour 
ney,  reached  the  railway  station  of  Pompeii  in  an 
hour.  As  we  rode  along  by  that  bluest  sea,  we  saw 
the  fishing-boats  go  out,  and  the  foamy  waves  (which 
it  would  be  violence  to  call  breakers)  come  in ;  we 
saw  the  mountains  slope  their  tawny  and  golden 
manes  caressingly  downward  to  the  waters,  where 
the  islands  were  dozing  yet ;  and  landward,  on  the 
left,  we  saw  Vesuvius,  with  his  brown  mantle  of 
ashes  drawn  close  about  his  throat,  reclining  on  the 


A   DAY   IN   POMPEII  79 

plain,  and  smoking  a  bland  and  thoughtful  morning 
pipe,  of  which  the  silver  fumes  curled  lightly,  lightly 
upward  in  the  sunrise. 

We  dismounted  at  the  station,  walked  a  few  rods 
eastward  through  a  little  cotton-field,,  and  found  our 
selves  at  the  door  of  Hotel  Diomed,  where  we  took 
breakfast  for  a  number  of  sesterces  which  I  am  sure 
it  would  have  made  an  ancient  Pompeian  stir  in  his 
urn  to  think  of  paying.  But  in  Italy  one  learns  the 
chief  Italian  virtue,  patience,  and  we  paid  our  ac 
count  with  the  utmost  good-nature.  There  was 
compensation  in  store  for  us,  and  the  guide  whom 
we  found  at  the  gate  leading  up  the  little  hill  to 
Pompeii  inclined  the  disturbed  balance  in  favor  of 
our  happiness.  He  was  a  Roman,  spoke  Italian 
that  Beatrice  might  have  addressed  to  Dante,  and 
was  numbered  Twenty-six.  I  suppose  it  is  known 
that  the  present  Italian  government  forbids  people 
to  be  pillaged  in  any  way  on  its  premises,  and  that 
the  property  of  the  state  is  no  longer  the  traffic  of 
custodians  and  their  pitiless  race.  At  Pompeii  each 
person  pays  two  francs  for  admission,  and  is  rigor 
ously  forbidden  by  recurrent  sign-boards  to  offer 
money  to  the  guides.  Ventisei  (as  we  shall  call  him) 
himself  pointed  out  one  of  these  notices  in  English, 
and  did  his  duty  faithfully  without  asking  or  receiv 
ing  fees  in  money.  He  was  a  soldier,  like  all  the 
other  guides,  and  was  a  most  intelligent,  obliging 
fellow,  with  a  self-respect  and  dignity  worthy  of  one 
of  our  own  volunteer  soldiers. 

Ventisei  took  us  up  the  winding  slope,  and  led  us 


8o  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

out  of  this  living  world  through  the  Sea-gate  of 
Pompeii  back  into  the  dead  past  —  the  past  which, 
with  all  its  sensuous  beauty  and  grace,  and  all  its 
intellectual  power,  one  is  not  sorry  to  have  dead, 
and,  for  the  most  part,  buried.  Our  feet  had  hardly 
trodden  the  lava  flagging  of  the  narrow  streets  when 
we  came  in  sight  of  the  laborers  who  were  exhum 
ing  the  inanimate  city.  They  were  few  in  number, 
not  perhaps  a  score,  and  they  worked  tediously,  with 
baskets  to  carry  away  the  earth  from  the  excavation, 
boys  and  girls  carrying  the  baskets,  and  several 
athletic  old  women  plying  picks,  while  an  overseer 
sat  in  a  chair  near  by,  and  smoked,  and  directed 
their  exertions. 

They  dig  down  about  eight  or  ten  feet,  uncover 
ing  the  walls  and  pillars  of  the  houses,  and  the 
mason,  who  is  at  hand,  places  little  iron  rivets  in 
the  stucco  to  prevent  its  fall  where  it  is  weak,  while 
an  artist  attends  to  wash  and  clean  the  frescoes  as 
fast  as  they  are  exposed.  The  soil  through  which 
the  excavation  first  passes  is  not  of  great  depth  ; 
the  ashes  which  fell  damp  with  scalding  rain,  in  the 
second  eruption,  are  perhaps  five  feet  thick  ;  the 
rest  is  of  that  porous  stone  which  descended  in  small 
fragments  during  the  first  eruption.  A  depth  of 
at  least  two  feet  in  this  stone  is  always  left  un 
touched  by  the  laborers  till  the  day  when  the  chief 
superintendent  of  the  work  comes  out  from  Naples 
to  see  the  last  layers  removed ;  and  it  is  then  that 
the  beautiful  mosaic  pavements  of  the  houses  are 
uncovered,  and  the  interesting  and  valuable  objects 
are  nearly  always  found. 


^piit^  %M 

\ti  fo"f^%H,^  ;.£ .  @ry.  p 

S  ,  .  i-^.'-:Wr  \vAV^Vv,)«  -,v^     '     %fr»^^-i 


THE   SEA   GATE,   POMPEII 


A    DAY    IN    POMPEII  81 

The  wonder  was,  seeing  how  slowly  the  work  pro 
ceeded,  not  that  two  thirds  of  Pompeii  were  yet 
buried,  but  that  one  third  had  been  exhumed.  We 
left  these  hopeless  toilers,  and  went  down-town  into 
the  Forum,  stepping  aside  on  the  way  to  look  into 
one  of  the  Pompeian  Courts  of  Common  Pleas. 

ii 

POMPEII  is  so  full  of  marvel  and  surprise,  in  fact, 
that  it  would  be  unreasonable  to  express  disappoint 
ment  with  Pompeii  in  fiction.  And  yet  I  cannot  help 
it.  An  exuberant  carelessness  of  phrase  in  most 
writers  and  talkers  who  describe  it  had  led  me  to  ex 
pect  much  more  than  it  was  possible  to  find  there.  In 
my  Pompeii  I  confess  that  the  houses  had  no  roofs 
—  in  fact,  the  rafters  which  sustained  the  tiles  being 
burnt,  how  could  the  roofs  help  falling  in  ?  But 
otherwise  my  Pompeii  was  a  very  complete  affair : 
the  walls  all  rose  to  their  full  height ;  doorways  and 
arches  were  perfect ;  the  columns  were  all  unbroken 
and  upright ;  putting  roofs  on  my  Pompeii,  you  might 
have  lived  in  it  very  comfortably.  The  real  Pom 
peii  is  different.  It  is  seldom  that  any  wall  is  un 
broken  ;  most  columns  are  fragmentary  ;  and  though 
the  ground-plans  are  always  distinct,  very  few  rooms 
in  the  city  are  perfect  in  form,  and  the  whole  is 
much  more  ruinous  than  I  thought. 

But  this  ruin  once  granted,  and  the  idle  disap 
pointment  at  its  greatness  overcome,  there  is  end 
less  material  for  study,  instruction,  and  delight.  It 
is  the  revelation  of  another  life,  and  the  utterance 


82  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

of  the  past  is  here  more  perfect  than  anywhere  else 
in  the  world.  I  think  that  the  true  friend  of  Pom 
peii  should  make  it  a  matter  of  conscience,  on  enter 
ing  the  enchanted  city,  to  cast  out  of  his  knowledge 
all  the  rubbish  that  has  fallen  into  it  from  novels 
and  travels,  and  to  keep  merely  the  facts  of  the 
town's  luxurious  life  and  agonizing  death,  with  such 
incidents  of  the  eruption  as  he  can  remember  from 
the  description  of  Pliny.  There  are  the  spells  to 
which  the  sorcery  yields,  and  with  these  in  your 
thought  you  can  rehabilitate  the  city  until  Ventisei 
seems  to  be  a  valet  de  place  ®i  the  first  century,  and 
yourselves  a  set  of  blond  barbarians  to  whom  he 
is  showing  off  the  splendors  of  one  of  the  most  bril 
liant  towns  of  the  empire  of  Titus.  Those  silent 
furrows  in  the  pavement  become  vocal  with  the  joy 
ous  rattle  of  chariot-wheels  on  a  sudden,  and  you 
prudently  step  up  on  the  narrow  sidewalks  and  rub 
along  by  the  little  shops  of  wine,  and  grain,  and  oil, 
with  which  the  thrifty  voluptuaries  of  Pompeii 
flanked  their  street-doors.  The  counters  of  the 
shops  run  across  their  fronts,  and  are  pierced  with 
round  holes  on  the  top,  through  which  you  see  dark 
depths  of  oil  in  the  jars  below,  and  not  sullen  lumps 
of  ashes  ;  those  stately  ampJiora  behind  are  full  of 
wine,  and  in  the  corners  are  bags  of  wheat. 

"  This  house,  with  a  shop  on  either  side,  whose  is 
it,  XXVI.  ?" 

"  It  is  the  house  of  the  great  Sallust,  my  masters. 
Would  you  like  his  autograph  ?  I  know  one  of  his 
slaves  who  would  sell  it." 


A   DAY   IN   POMPEII  83 

You  are  a  good  deal  stared  at,  naturally,  as  you 
pass  by,  for  people  in  Pompeii  have  not  much  to  do, 
and,  besides,  a  Briton  is  not  an  every-day  sight  there, 
as  he  will  be  one  of  these  centuries.  The  skins  of 
wild  beasts  are  little  worn  in  Pompeii,  and  those 
bold-eyed  Roman  women  think  it  rather  odd  that  we 
should  like  to  powder  our  shaggy  heads  with  brick- 
dust.  However,  these  are  matters  of  taste.  We, 
for  our  part,  cannot  repress  a  feeling  of  disgust  at 
the  loungers  in  the  street,  who,  XXVI.  tells  us,  are 
all  going  to  soak  themselves  half  the  day  in  the 
baths  yonder ;  for,  if  there  is  in  Pompeii  one  thing1 
more  offensive  than  another  to  our  savage  sense  of 
propriety,  it  is  the  personal  cleanliness  of  the  inhab 
itants.  We  little  know  what  a  change  for  the  better 
will  be  wrought  in  these  people  with  the  lapse  of 
time,  and  that  they  will  yet  come  to  wash  themselves 
but  once  a  year,  as  we  do. 

(The  reader  may  go  on  doing  this  sort  of  thing 
at  some  length  for  himself ;  and  may  imagine,  if  he 
pleases,  a  boastful  conversation  among  the  Pom- 
peians  at  the- baths,  in  which  the  barbarians  hear 
how  Agricola  has  broken  the  backbone  of  a  rebellion 
in  Britain ;  and  in  which  all  the  speakers  begin 
their  observations  with  "  Ho !  my  Lepidus  ! "  and 
"  Ha!  my  Diomed  !  "  In  the  mean  time  we  return 
to  the  present  day,  and  step  down  the  Street  of 
Plenty  along  with  Ventisei.) 


84  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

in 

IT  is  proper,  after  seeing  the  sites  of  some  of  the 
principal  temples  in  Pompeii  (such  as  those  of  Jupi 
ter  and  Venus),  to  cross  the  fields  that  cover  a  great 
breadth  of  the  buried  city,  and  look  into  the  amphi 
theatre,  where,  as  everybody  knows,  the  lions  had 
no  stomach  for  Glaucus  on  the  morning  of  the  fatal 
eruption.  The  fields  are  now  planted  with  cotton, 
and  of  course  we  thought  those  commonplaces  about 
the  wonder  the  Pompeians  would  feel  could  they 
come  back  to  see  that  New  World  plant  growing 
above  their  buried  homes.  We  might  have  told 
them,  the  day  of  our  visit,  that  this  cruel  plant,  so 
long  watered  with  the  tears  of  slaves,  and  fed  with 
the  blood  of  men,  was  now  an  exile  from  its  native 
fields,  where  war  was  ploughing  with  sword  and  shot 
the  guilty  land,  and  rooting  up  the  subtlest  fibres  of 
the  oppression  in  which  cotton  had  grown  king. 

But  the  only  Pompeian  presences  which  haunted 
our  passage  of  the  cotton-field  were  certain  small 

"  Phantoms  of  delight," 

with  soft  black  eyes  and  graceful  wiles,  who  ran 
before  us  and  plucked  the  bolls  of  the  cotton  and 
sold  them  to  us.  Embassies  bearing  red  and  white 
grapes  were  also  sent  out  of  the  cottages  to  our 
excellencies ;  and  there  was  some  doubt  of  the  cur 
rency  of  the  coin  which  we  gave  these  poor  children 
in  return. 

There  are  now  but  few  peasants  living  on  the 


A   DAY   IN   POMPEII  85 

land  over  the  head  of  Pompeii,  and  the  government 
allows  no  sales  of  real  estate  to  be  made  except  to 
itself.  The  people  who  still  dwell  here  can  hardly 
be  said  to  own  their  possessions,  for  they  are  merely 
allowed  to  cultivate  the  soil.  A  guard  stationed 
night  and  day  prevents  them  from  making  excava 
tions,  and  they  are  severely  restricted  from  entering 
the  excavated  quarters  of  the  city  alone. 

The  cotton  whitens  over  two  thirds  of  Pompeii  yet 
interred  :  happy  the  generation  that  lives  to  learn 
the  wondrous  secrets  of  that  sepulchre  !  For,  when 
you  have  once  been  at  Pompeii,  this  phantasm  of 
the  past  takes  deeper  hold  on  your  imagination  than 
any  living  city,  and  becomes  and  is  the  metropolis 
of  your  dreamland  forever.  O  marvelous  city  !  who 
shall  reveal  the  cunning  of  your  spell  ?  Something 
not  death,  something  not  life — something  that  is 
the  one  when  you  turn  to  determine  its  essence  as 
the  other  !  What  is  it  comes  to  me  at  this  distance 
of  that  which  -I  saw  in  Pompeii  ?  The  narrow  and 
curving,  but  not  crooked  streets,  with  the  blazing 
sun  of  that  Neapolitan  November  falling  into  them, 
or  clouding  their  wheel-worn  lava  with  the  black, 
black  shadows  of  the  many-tinted  walls  ;  the  houses, 
and  the  gay  colums  of  white,  yellow,  and  red ;  the 
delicate  pavements  of  mosaic  ;  the  skeletons  of  dusty 
cisterns  and  dead  fountains ;  inanimate  garden 
spaces  with  pygmy  statues  suited  to  their  littleness  ; 
suites  of  fairy  bed-chambers,  painted  with  exquisite 
frescoes;  dining-halls  with  joyous  scenes  of  hunt  and 
banquet  on  their  walls ;  the  ruinous  sites  of  temples ; 


86  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

the  melancholy  emptiness  of  booths  and  shops  and 
jolly  drinking-houses  ;  the  lonesome  tragic  theatre, 
with  a  modern  Pompeian  drawing  water  from  a  well 
there ;  the  baths  with  their  roofs  perfect  yet,  and 
the  stucco  bas-reliefs  all  but  unharmed  ;  around 
the  whole,  the  city  wall  crowned  with  slender  pop 
lars  ;  outside  the  gates,  the  long  avenue  of  tombs, 
and  the  Appian  Way  stretching  on  to  Stabiae ;  and, 
in  the  distance,  Vesuvius,  brown  and  bare,  with  his 
fiery  breath  scarce  visible  against  the  cloudless 
heaven;  —  these  are  the  things  that  float  before 
my  fancy  as  I  turn  back  to  look  at  myself  walking 
those  enchanted  streets,  and  to  wonder  if  I  could 
ever  have  been  so  blest. 

The  amphitheatre,  to  which  we  came  now,  after 
our  stroll  across  the  cotton-fields,  was  small,  like  the 
vastest  things  in  Pompeii,  and  had  nothing  of  the 
stately  magnificence  of  the  Arena  at  Verona,  nor 
anything  of  the  Roman  Coliseum's  melancholy  and 
ruinous  grandeur.  But  its  littleness  made  it  all  the 
more  comfortable  and  social,  and,  seated  upon  its 
benches  under  a  cool  awning,  one  could  have  almost 
chatted  across  the  arena  with  one's  friends  ;  could 
have  witnessed  the  spectacle  on  the  sands  without 
losing  a  movement  of  the  quick  gladiators,  or  an 
agony  of  the  victim  given  to  the  beasts — which 
must  have  been  very  delightful  to  a  Pompeian  of 
companionable  habits.  It  is  quite  impossible,  how 
ever,  that  the  bouts  described  by  Bulwer  as  taking 
place  all  at  the  same  time  on  the  arena  should 
really  have  done  so :  the  combatants  would  have 


POMPEII,  THE  AVENUE  OF  TOMBS 


ADAYINPOMPEII  87 

rolled  and  tumbled  and  trampled  over  each  other  an 
hundred  times  in  the  narrow  space. 

Of  all  the  voices  with  which  it  once  rang  the  poor 
little  amphitheatre  has  kept  only  an  echo.  But  this 
echo  is  one  of  the  most  perfect  ever  heard  ;  prompt, 
clear,  startling,  it  blew  back  the  light  chaff  we  threw 
to  it  with  amazing  vehemence,  and  almost  made  us 
doubt  if  it  were  not  a  direct  human  utterance.  Yet 
how  was  Ventisei  to  know  our  names  ?  And  there 
was  no  one  else  to  call  them  but  ourselves.  Our 
"  dolce  dtica  "  gathered  a  nosegay  from  the  crum 
bling  ledges,  and  sat  down  in  the  cool  of  the  once- 
cruel  cells  beneath,  and  put  it  prettily  together  for 
the  ladies.  When  we  had  wearied  ourselves  with 
the  echo  he  arose  and  led  us  back  into  Pompeii. 

IV 

THE  plans  of  nearly  all  the  houses  in  the  city  are 
alike  :  the  entrance-room  next  the  door ;  the  parlor 
or  drawing-room  next  that ;  then  the  impluvium,  or 
unroofed  space  in  the  middle  of  the  house,  where 
the  rains  were  caught  and  drained  into  the  cistern, 
and  where  the  household  used  to  come  to  wash 
itself,  primitively,  as  at  a  pump ;  the  little  garden, 
with  its  painted  columns,  behind  the  impluvium, 
and,  at  last,  the  dining-room.  There  are  minute 
bed-chambers  on  either  side,  and,  as  I  said,  a  shop 
at  one  side  in  front,  for  the  sale  of  the  master's 
grain,  wine,  and  oil.  The  pavements  of  all  the 
houses  are  of  mosaic,  which,  in  the  better  sort,  is 
very  delicate  and  beautiful,  and  is  found  sometimes 


88  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

perfectly  uninjured.  Of  course  there  were  many 
picturesque  and  fanciful  designs,  of  which  the  best 
have  been  removed  to  the  Museum  in  Naples  ;  but 
several  good  ones  are  still  left,  and  (like  that  of  the 
Wild  Boar)  give  names  to  the  houses  in  which  they 
are  found. 

But,  after  all,  the  great  wonder,  the  glory,  of  these 
Pompeian  houses  is  in  their  frescoes.  If  I  tried  to 
give  an  idea  of  the  luxury  of  color  in  Pompeii,  the 
most  gorgeous  adjectives  would  be  as  poorly  able  to 
reproduce  a  vivid  and  glowing  sense  of  those  hues 
as  the  photography  which  now  copies  the  drawing 
of  the  decorations  ;  so  I  do  not  try. 

I  know  it  is  a  cheap  and  feeble  thought,  and  yet, 
let  the  reader  please  to  consider  :  A  workman  nearly 
two  thousand  years  laying  upon  the  walls  those  soft 
lines  that  went  to  make  up  fauns  and  satyrs,  nymphs 
and  naiads,  heroes  and  gods  and  goddesses  ;  and 
getting  weary  and  lying  down  to  sleep,  and  dream 
ing  of  an  eruption  of  the  mountain  ;  of  the  city  buried 
under  a  fiery  hail,  and  slumbering  in  its  bed  of  ashes 
seventeen  centuries  ;  then  of  its  being  slowly  ex 
humed,  and,  after  another  lapse  of  years,  of  some 
one  coming  to  gather  the  shadow  of  that  dreamer's 
work  upon  a  plate  of  glass,  that  he  might  infinitely 
reproduce  it  and  sell  it  to  tourists  at  from  five  francs 
to  fifty  centimes  a  copy  —  I  say,  consider  such  a 
dream  dreamed  in  the  hot  heart  of  the  day,  after 
certain  cups  of  Vesuvian  'wine !  What  a  piece  of 
Katzenjiimmer  (I  can  use  no  milder  term)  would 
that  workman  think  it  when  he  woke  again  !  Alas  ! 


ADAYINPOMPEII  89 

what  is  history  and  the  progress  of  the  arts  and 
sciences  but  one  long  Katsenjammer ! 

Photography  cannot  give,  any  more  than  I,  the 
colors  of  the  frescoes,  but  it  can  do  the  drawing 
better,  and,  I  suspect,  the  spirit  also.  I  used  the 
word  workman,  and  not  artist,  in  speaking  of  the 
decoration  of  the  walls,  for  in  most  cases  the  painter 
was  only  an  artisan,  and  did  his  work  probably  by 
the  yard,  as  the  artisan  who  paints  walls  and  ceilings 
in  Italy  does  at  this  day.  But  the  old  workman  did 
his  work  much  more  skillfully  and  tastefully  than 
the  modern  —  threw  on  expanses  of  mellow  color, 
delicately  paneled  off  the  places  for  the  scenes,  and 
penciled  in  the  figures  and  draperies  (there  are 
usually  more  of ^the  one  than  the  other)  with  a  deft 
hand.  Of  course,  the  houses  of  the  rich  were 
adorned  by  men  of  talent ;  but  it  is  surprising  to 
see  the  community  of  thought  and  feeling  in  all  this 
work,  whether  it  be  from  cunninger  or  clumsier 
hands.  The  subjects  are  nearly  always  chosen  from 
the  fables  of  the  gods,  and  they  are  in  illustration 
of  the  poets,  Homer  and  the  rest.  To  suit  that 
soft,  luxurious  life  which  people  led  in  Pompeii,  the 
themes  are  commonly  amorous,  and  sometimes  not 
too  chaste;  there  is  much  of  Bacchus  and  Ariadne, 
much  of  Venus  and  Adonis,  and  Diana  bathes  a 
good  deal  with  her  nymphs,  —  not  to  mention  fre 
quent  representations  of  the  toilet  of  that  beautiful 
monster  which  the  lascivious  art  of  the  time  loved 
to  depict.  One  of  the  most  pleasing  of  all  the 
scenes  is  that  in  one  of  the  houses,  of  the  Judgment 


90  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

of  Paris,  in  which  the  shepherd  sits  upon  a  bank  in 
an  attitude  of  ineffable  and  flattered  importance, 
with  one  leg  carelessly  crossing  the  other,  and  both 
hands  resting  lightly  on  his  shepherd's  crook,  while 
the  goddesses  before  him  await  his  sentence.  Nat 
urally  the  painter  has  done  his  best  for  the  victress 
in  this  rivalry,  and  you  see  ± 

"  Idalian  Aphrodite  beautiful," 

as  she  should  be,  but  with  a  warm  and  piquant  spice 
of  girlish  resentment  in  her  attitude,  that  Paris 
should  pause  for  an  instant,  which  is  altogether 
delicious. 

"  And  I  beheld  great  Here's  angry  eyes." 

Awful  eyes !  How  did  the  painter  make  them  ?  The 
wonder  of  all  these  pagan  frescoes  is  the  mystery  of 
the  eyes  —  still,  beautiful,  unhuman.  You  cannot  be 
lieve  that  it  is  wrong  for  those  tranquil-eyed  men  and 
women  to  do  evil,  they  look  so  calm  and  so  uncon 
scious  in  it  all ;  and  in  the  presence  of  the  celestials, 
as  they  bend  upon  you  those  eternal  orbs,  in  whose 
regard  you  are  but  a  part  of  space,  you  feel  that  here 
art  has  achieved  the  unearthly.  I  know  of  no  words 
in  literature  which  give  a  sense  (nothing  gives  the 
idea)  of  the  stare  of  these  gods,  except  that  mag 
nificent  line  of  Kingsley's,  describing  the  advance 
over  the  sea  toward  Andromeda  of  the  oblivious  and 
unsympathizing  Nereids.  They  floated  slowly  up, 
and  their  eyes 

"  Stared  on  her,  silent  and  still,  like  the  eyes  in  the  house  of  the 
idols," 


* 


A   DAY   IN    POMPEII  91 

The  colors  of  this  fresco  of  the  Judgment  of  Paris 
are  still  so  fresh  and  bright,  that  it  photographs 
very  well,  but  there  are  other  frescoes  wherein  there 
is  more  visible  perfection  of  line,  but  in  which  the 
colors  are  so  dim  that  they  can  only  be  reproduced 
by  drawings.  One  of  these  is  the  Wounded  Adonis 
cared  for  by  Venus  and  the  Loves ;  in  which  the 
story  is  treated  with  a  playful  pathos  wonderfully 
charming.  The  fair  boy  leans  in  the  languor  of  his 
hurt  toward  Venus  ;  who  sits  utterly  disconsolate 
beside  him,  while  the  Cupids  busy  themselves  with 
such  slight  surgical  offices  as  Cupids  may  render : 
one  prepares  a  linen  bandage  for  the  wound,  another 
wraps  it  round  the  leg  of  Adonis,  another  supports 
one  of  his  heavy  arms,  another  finds  his  own  emo 
tions  too  much  for  him  and  pauses  to  weep.  It  is  a 
pity  that  the  colors  of  this  beautiful  fresco  are  grown 
so  dim,  and  a  greater  pity  that  most  of  the  other 
frescoes  in  Pompeii  must  share  its  fate,  and  fade 
away.  The  hues  are  vivid  when  the  walls  are  first 
uncovered,  and  the  ashes  washed  from  the  pictures, 
but  then  the  malice  of  the  elements  begins  anew, 
and  rain  and  sun  draw  the  life  out  of  tints  which  the 
volcano  failed  to  obliterate. 

Among  the  frescoes  which  told  no  story  but  their 
own,  we  were  most  pleased  with  one  in  a  delicately 
painted  little  bed-chamber.  This  represented  an 
alarmed  and  furtive  man,  whom  we  at  once  pro 
nounced  The  Belated  Husband,  opening  a  door  with 
a  night-latch.  Nothing  could  have  been  better  than 
this  miserable  wretch's  cowardly  haste  and  cautious 


92  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

noiselessness  in  applying  his  key  ;  apprehension  sat 
upon  his  brow,  confusion  dwelt  in  his  guilty  eye. 
He  had  been  out  till  two  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
electioneering  for  Pansa,  the  friend  of  the  people 
("  Pansa,  and  Roman  gladiators,"  "  Pansa,  and 
Christians  to  the  Beasts,"  was  the  platform),  and  he 
had  left  his  placens  uxor  at  home  alone  with  the 
children,  and  now  within  this  door  that  placens  uxor 
awaited  him ! 


You  have  read,  no  doubt,  of  their  discovering,  a 
year  or  two  since,  in  making  an  excavation  in  a 
Pompeian  street,  the  moulds  of  four  human  bodies, 
three  women  and  a  man,  who  fell  down,  blind  and 
writhing,  in  the  storm  of  fire  eighteen  hundred  years 
ago ;  whose  shape  the  settling  and  hardening  ashes 
took ;  whose  flesh  wasted  away,  and  whose  bones  lay 
there  in  the  hollow  of  the  matrix  till  the  cunning  of 
this  time  found  them,  and,  pouring  liquid  plaster 
round  the  skeletons,  clothed  them  with  human  form 
again,  and  drew  them  forth  into  the  world  once 
more.  There  are  many  things,  in  Pompeii  which 
bring  back  the  gay  life  of  the  city,  but  nothing  which 
so  vividly  reports  the  terrible  manner  of  her  death 
as  these  effigies  of  the  creatures  that  actually  shared 
it.  The  man  in  the  last  struggle  has  thrown  him 
self  upon  his  back,  and  taken  his  doom  sturdily  — 
there  is  a  sublime  calm  in  his  rigid  figure.  The 
•  women  lie  upon  their  faces,  their  limbs  tossed  and 
distorted,  their  drapery  tangled  and  heaped  about 


A   DAY   IN   POMPEII  93 

them,  and  in  every  fibre  you  see  how  hard  they  died. 
One  presses  her  face  into  her  handkerchief  to  draw 
one  last  breath  unmixed  with  scalding  steam ;  an 
other's  arms  are  wildly  thrown  abroad  to  clutch  at 
help ;  another's  hand  is  appealingly  raised,  and  on 
her  slight  fingers  you  see  the  silver  hoops  with  which 
her  poor  dead  vanity  adorned  them. 

The  guide  takes  you  aside  from  the  street  into  the 
house  where  they  lie,  and  a  dreadful  shadow  drops 
upon  your  heart  as  you  enter  their  presence.  With 
out,  the  hell-storm  seems  to  fall  again,  and  the  whole 
sunny  plain  to  be  darkened  with  its  ruin,  and  the 
city  to  send  up  the  tumult  of  her  despair. 

What  is  there  left  in  Pompeii  to  speak  of  after 
this  ?  The  long  street  of  tombs  outside  the  walls  ? 
Those  that  died  before  the  city's  burial  seem  to  have 
scarcely  a  claim  to  the  solemnity  of  death. 

Shall  we  go  see  Diomed's  Villa,  and  walk  through 
the  freedman's  long  underground  vaults,  where  his 
friends  thought  to  be  safe,  and  were  smothered  in 
heaps  ?  The  garden-ground  grows  wild  among  its 
broken  columns  with  weeds  and  poplar  saplings  ;  in 
one  of  the  corridors  they  sell  photographs,  on  which, 
if  you  please,  Ventisei  has  his  bottle,  or  drink- 
money.  So  we  escape  from  the  doom  of  the  calam 
ity,  and  so,  at  last  the  severely  forbidden  buonamano 
is  paid. 

We  return  slowly  through  the  city,  where  we  have 
spent  the  whole  day,  from  nine  till  four  o'clock. 
We  linger  on  the  way,  imploring  Ventisei  if  there  is 
not  something  to  be  seen  in  this  or  that  house  ;  we 


94  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

make  our  weariness  an  excuse  for  sitting  down,  and 
cannot  rend  ourselves  from  the  bliss  of  being  in 
Pompeii. 

At  last  we  leave  its  gates,  and  swear  each  other 
to  come  again  many  times  while  in  Naples,  and  never 
go  again. 

Perhaps  it  was  as  well.  You  cannot  repeat  great 
happiness. 


IX.     A  HALF-HOUR  AT  HERCULANEUM 


THE  road  from  Naples  to  Herculaneum  is,  in 
fact,  one  long  street ;  it  hardly  ceases  to  be 
city  in  Naples  till  it  is  town  at  Portici,  and  in  the 
interval  it  is  suburb  running  between  palatial  lines 
of  villas,  which  all  have  their  names  ambitiously 
painted  over  their  doors.  Great  part  of  the  distance 
this  street  is  bordered  by  the  bay,  and,  as  far  as 
this  is  the  case,  it  is  picturesque,  as  everything  is 
belonging  to  marine  life  in  Italy.  Seafaring  people 
go  lounging  up  and  down  among  the  fishermen's 
boats  drawn  up  on  the  shore,  and  among  the  fisher 
men's  wives  making  nets,  while  the  fishermen's  chil 
dren  play  and  clamber  everywhere,  and  over  all  flap 
and  flutter  the  clothes  hung  on  poles  to  dry.  In  this 


96  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

part  of  the  street  there  are,  of  course,  oysters,  and 
grapes,  and  oranges,  and  cactus  pulps,  and  cutlery, 
and  iced  drinks  to  sell  at  various  booths  ;  and  Com 
merce  is  exceedingly  dramatic  and  boisterous  over 
the  bargains  she  offers ;  and  equally,  of  course, 
drinking  shops  lurk  at  intervals  along  the  pavement, 
and  lure  into  their  recesses  mariners  of  foreign  birth, 
briefly  ashore  from  their  ships.  The  New  York 
Coffee  House  is  there  to  attract  my  maritime  fellow- 
countrymen,  and  I  know  that  if  I  look  into  that 
place  of  refreshment  I  shall  see  their  honest,  fool 
ish  faces  flushed  with  drink,  and  with  the  excite 
ment  of  buying  the  least  they  can  for  the  most 
money.  Poor  souls  !  they  shall  drink  that  pleasant 
morning  away  in  the  society  of  Antonino  the  best 
of  Neapolitans,  and  at  midnight,  emptied  of  every 
soldo,  shall  arise,  wrung  with  a  fearful  suspicion  of 
treachery,  and  wander  away  under  Antonino's  guid 
ance  to  seek  the  protection  of  the  consul  ;  or,  tak 
ing  the  law  into  their  own  hands,  shall  proceed  to 
clean  out,  more  Americano,  the  New  York  Coffee 
House,  when  Antonino  shall  develop  into  one  of  the 
landlords,  and  deal  them  the  most  artistic  stab  in 
Naples  :  handsome,  worthy  Antonino  ;  tender-eyed, 
subtle,  pitiless ! 

ii 

WHERE  the  road  to  Herculaneum  leaves  the  bay 
and  its  seafaring  life,  it  enters,  between  the  walls  of 
lofty  fly-blown  houses,  a  world  of  maccaroni  haunted 
by  foul  odors,  beggars,  and  poultry.  There  were 


AT   HERCULANEUM  97 

few  people  to  be  seen  on  the  street,  but  through  the 
open  doors  of  the  lofty  fly-blown  houses  we  saw 
floury  legions  at  work  making  maccaroni ;  grinding 
maccaroni,  rolling  it,  cutting  it,  hanging  it  in  mighty 
skeins  to  dry,  and  gathering  it  when  dried,  and  put 
ting  it  away.  By  the  frequency  of  the  wine-shops 
we  judged  that  the  legions  were  a  thirsty  host,  and 
by  the  number  of  the  barber-surgeons'  shops,  that 
they  were  a  plethoric  and  too  full-blooded  host. 
The  latter  shops  were  in  the  proportion  of  one  to 
five  of  the  former ;  and  the  artist  who  had  painted 
their  signs  had  indulged  his  fancy  in  wild  excesses 
of  phlebotomy.  We  had  found  that,  as  we  came 
south  from  Venice,  science  grew  more  and  more 
sanguinary  in  Italy,  and  more  and  more  disposed  to 
let  blood.  At  Ferrara,  even,  the  propensity  began 
to  be  manifest  on  the  barbers'  signs,  which  displayed 
the  device  of  an  arm  lanced  at  the  elbow,  and  jetting 
the  blood  by  a  neatly  described  curve  into  a  tum 
bler.  Further  south  the  same  arm  was  seen  to  bleed 
at  the  wrist  also  ;  and  at  Naples  an  exhaustive  treat 
ment  of  the  subject  appeared,  the  favorite  study  of 
the  artist  being  a  nude  figure  reclining  in  a  genteel 
attitude  on  a  bank  of  pleasant  greensward,  and 
bleeding  from  the  elbows,  wrists,  hands,  ankles,  and 
feet. 

in 

IN  Naples  everywhere  one  is  surprised  by  the 
great  number  of  English  names  which  appear  on 
business  houses,  but  it  was  entirely  bewildering  to 


98  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

read  a  bill  affixed  to  the  gate  of  one  of  the  villas 
on  this  road :  "  This  Desirable  Property  for  Sale." 
I  should  scarcely  have  cared  to  buy  that  desirable 
property,  though  the  neighborhood  seemed  to  be  a 
favorite  summer  resort,  and  there  were  villas,  as  I 
said,  nearly  the  whole  way  to  Portici.  Those  which 
have  been  tolerable,  no  doubt,  if  they  could  have 
stood  with  their  gardens  toward  the  bay  would 
kept  their  windows  shut  to  the  vile  street  before 
their  doors,  but  the  houses  opposite  could  have  had 
no  escape  from  its  stench  and  noisomeness.  It  was 
absolutely  the  filthiest  street  I  have  seen  anywhere 
outside  of  New  York,  excepting  only  that  little 
street  which,  in  Herculaneum,  leads  from  the  the 
atre  to  the  House  of  Argo. 

This  pleasant  avenue  has  a  stream  of  turbid  water 
in  its  centre,  bordered  by  begging  children,  and  is 
either  fouler  or  cleaner  for  the  water,  but  I  shall 
never  know  which.  It  is  at  a  depth  of  some  fifty  or 
sixty  feet  below  the  elevation  on  which  the  present 
city  of  Portici  is  built,  and  is  part  of  the  excavation 
made  long  ago  to  reach  the  plain  on  which  Hercula 
neum  stands,  buried  under  its  half-score  of  succes 
sive  layers  of  lava,  and  ashes,  and  Portici.  We  had 
the  aid  of  all  the  poverty  and  leisure  of  the  modern 
town  —  there  was  a  vast  deal  of  both,  we  found  — 
in  our  search  for  the  staircase  by  which  you  descend 
to  the  classic  plain,  and  it  proved  a  discovery  involv 
ing  the  outlay  of  all  the  copper  coin  about  us,  while 
the  sight  of  the  famous  theatre  of  Herculaneum 
was  much  more  expensive  than  it  would  have  been 


AT   HERCULANEUM  99 

had  we  come  there  in  the  old  time  to  see  a  play  of 
Plautus  or  Terence. 

As  for  the  theatre,  "the  large  and  highly  orna 
mented  theatre"  of  which  I  read,  only  a  little  while 
ago,  in  an  encyclopaedia,  we  found  it,  by  the  light 
of  our  candles,  a  series  of  gloomy  hollows,  of  the 
general  effect  of  coalbins  and  potato  cellars.  It 
was  never  perfectly  dug  out  of  the  lava,  and,  as  is 
known,  it  was  filled  up  in  the  last  century,  together 
with  other  excavations,  when  they  endangered  the 
foundations  of  worthless  Portici  overhead.  (I  am 
amused  to  find  myself  so  hot  upon  the  poor  pro 
perty-holders  of  Portici.  I  suppose  I  should  not  my 
self,  even  for  the  cause  of  antiquity  and  the  know 
ledge  of  classic  civilization,  like  to  have  my  house 
tumbled  about  my  ears.)  But  though  it  was  im 
possible  in  the  theatre  of  Herculaneum  to  gain  any 
idea  of  its  size  or  richness,  I  remembered  there  the 
magnificent  bronzes  which  had  been  found  in  it,  and 
paid  a  hasty  reverence  to  the  place.  Indeed,  it  is 
amazing,  when  one  sees  how  small  a  part  of  Hercu 
laneum  has  been  uncovered,  to  consider  the  number 
of  fine  works  of  art  in  the  Museo  Nazionale  which 
were  taken  thence,  and  which  argue  a  much  richer 
and  more  refined  community  than  that  of  Pompeii. 
A  third  of  the  latter  city  has  now  been  restored  to 
the  light  of  day ;  but  though  it  has  yielded  abun 
dance  of  all  the  things  that  illustrate  the  domestic 
and  public  life,  and  the  luxury  and  depravity  of  those 
old  times,  and  has  given  the  once  secret  rooms  of 
the  museum  their  worst  attraction,  it  still  falls  far 


. 


ioo  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

below  Herculaneum  in  the  value  of  its  contributions 
to  the  treasures  of  classic  art,  except  only  in  the 
variety  and  beauty  of  its  exquisite  frescoes. 

The  effect  of  this  fact  is  to  stimulate  the  imagina 
tion  of  the  visitor  to  that  degree  that  nothing  short 
of  the  instant  destruction  of  Portici  and  the  exca 
vation  of  all  Herculaneum  will  satisfy  him.  If  the 
opening  of  one  theatre,  and  the  uncovering  of  a 
basilica  and  two  or  three  houses,  have  given  such 
riches  to  us,  what  delight  and  knowledge  would  not 
the  removal  of  these  obdurate  hills  of  ashes  and  lava 
bestow ! 

Emerging  from  the  coalbins  and  potato  cellars, 
the  visitor  extinguishes  his  candle  with  a  pathetic 
sigh,  profusely  rewards  the  custodian  (whom  he  con 
nects  in  some  mysterious  way  with  the  ancient  popu 
lation  of  the  injured  city  about  him),  and,  thought 
fully  removing  the  tallow  from  his  fingers,  follows 
the  course  of  the  vile  stream  already  sung,  and  soon 
arrives  at  the  gate  opening  into  the  exhumed  quarter 
of  Herculaneum.  And  there  he  finds  a  custodian 
who  enters  perfectly  into  his  feelings  ;  a  custodian 
who  has  once  been  a  guide  in  Pompeii,  but  now  de 
spises  that  wretched  town,  and  would  not  be  guide 
there  for  any  money  since  he  has  known  the  supe 
rior  life  of  Herculaneum  ;  who,  in  fine,  feels  toward 
Pompeii  as  a  Bostonian  feels  toward  New  York.  Yet 
the  reader  would  be  wrong  to  form  the  idea  that 
there  is  bitterness  in  the  disdain  of  this  custodian. 
On  the  contrary,  he  is  one  of  the  best-natured  men 
in  the  world.  He  is  a  mighty  mass  of  pinguid 


AT  HERCULANEUM  101 

bronze,  with  a  fat  lisp,  and  a  sunflower  smile,  and 
he  lectures  us  with  a  vast  and  genial  breadth  of 
manner  on  the  ruins,  contradicting  all  our  guesses  at 

things  with  a  sweet  "  Perdoni,  signori !    ma ." 

At  the  end,  we  find  that  he  has  some  medallions  of 
lava  to  sell :  there  is  Victor  Emanuel,  or,  if  we  are 
of  tf\o.partito  d'azione,  there  is  Garibaldi ;  both  warm 
yet  from  the  crater  of  Vesuvius,  and  of  the  same 
material  which  destroyed  Herculaneum.  We  de 
cline  to  buy,  and  the  custodian  makes  the  national 
shrug  and  grimace  (signifying  that  we  are  masters 
of  the  situation,  and  that  he  washes  his  hands  of  the 
consequence  of  our  folly)  on  the  largest  scale  that 
we  have  ever  seen  :  his  mighty  hands  are  rigidly 
thrust  forth,  his  great  lip  protruded,  his  enormous 
head  thrown  back  to  bring  his  face  on  a  level  with 
his  chin.  The  effect  is  tremendous,  but  we  never 
theless  feel  that  he  loves  us  the  same. 

IV 

THE  afternoon  on  which  we  visited  Herculaneum 
was  in  melancholy  contrast  to  the  day  we  spent  in 
Pompeii.  The  lingering  summer  had  at  last  sad 
dened  into  something  like  autumnal  gloom,  and  that 
blue,  blue  sky  of  Naples  was  overcast.  So,  this  sec 
ond  draught  of  the  spirit  of  the  past  had  not  only 
something  of  the  insipidity  of  custom,  but  brought 
rather  a  depression  than  a  lightness  to  our  hearts. 
There  was  so  little  of  Herculaneum  :  only  a  few 
hundred  yards  square  are  exhumed,  and  we  counted 
the  houses  easily  on  the  fingers  of  one  hand,  leaving 


102  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

the  thumb  to  stand  for  the  few  rods  of  street  that, 
with  its  flagging  of  lava  and  narrow  border  of  foot- 
walks,  lay  between  ;  and  though  the  custodian,  ap 
parently  moved  at  our  dejection,  said  that  the 
excavation  was  to  be  resumed  the  very  next  week, 
the  assurance  did  little  to  restore  our  cheerfulness. 
Indeed,  I  fancy  that  these  old  cities  must  needs  be 
seen  in  the  sunshine  by  those  who  would  feel  what 
gay  lives  they  once  led  ;  by  dimmer  light  they  are 
very  sullen  spectres,  and  their  doom  still  seems  to 
brood  upon  them.  I  know  that  even  Pompeii  could 
not  have  been  joyous  that  sunless  afternoon,  for 
what  there  was  to  see  of  mournful  Herculaneum  was 
as  brilliant  with  colors  as  anything  in  the  former 
city.  Nay,  I  believe  that  the  tints  of  the  frescoes 
and  painted  columns  were  even  brighter,  and  that 
the  walls  of  the  houses  were  far  less  ruinous  than 
those  of  Pompeii.  But  no  house  was  wholly  freed 
from  lava,  and  the  little  street  ran  at  the  rear  of  the 
buildings  which  were  supposed  to  front  on  some 
grander  avenue  not  yet  exhumed.  It  led  down,  as 
the  custodian  pretended,  to  a  wharf,  and  he  showed 
an  iron  ring  in  the  wall  of  the  House  of  Argo,  stand 
ing  at  the  end  of  the  street,  to  which,  he  said,  his 
former  fellow-citizens  used  to  fasten  their  boats, 
though  it  was  all  dry  enough  there  now. 

There  is  evidence  in  Herculaneum  of  much  more 
ambitious  domestic  architecture  than  seems  to  have 
been  known  in  Pompeii.  The  ground  plan  of  the 
houses  in  the  two  cities  is  alike  ;  but  in  the  former 
there  was  often  a  second  story,  as  was  proven  by  the 


AT   HERCULANEUM  103 

charred  ends  of  beams  still  protruding  from  the 
walls,  while  in  the  latter  there  is  only  one  house 
which  is  thought  to  have  aspired  to  a  second  floor. 
The  House  of  Argo  is  also  much  larger  than  any  in 
Pompeii,  and  its  appointments  were  more  magnifi 
cent.  Indeed,  we  imagined  that  in  this  more  purely 
Greek  town  we  felt  an  atmosphere  of  better  taste  in 
everything  than  prevailed  in  the  fashionable  Ro 
man  watering-place,  though  this,  too,  was  a  summer 
resort  of  the  "  best  society  "  of  the  empire.  The 
mosaic  pavements  were  exquisite,  and  the  little  bed 
chambers  dainty  and  delicious  in  their  decorations. 
The  lavish  delight  in  color  found  expression  in  the 
vividest  hues  upon  the  walls,  and  not  only  were  the 
columns  of  the  garden  painted,  but  the  foliage 
of  the  capitals  was  variously  tinted.  The  garden  of 
the  House  of  Argo  was  vaster  than  any  of  the 
classic  world  which  we  had  yet  seen,  and  was  su 
perb  with  a  long  colonnade  of  unbroken  columns. 
Between  these  and  the  walls  of  the  houses  was  a 
pretty  pathway  of  mosaic,  and  in  the  midst  once 
stood  marble  tables,  under  which  the  workmen  ex 
huming  the  city  found  certain  crouching  skeletons. 
At  one  end  was  the  dining-room,  of  course,  and 
painted  on  the  wall  was  a  lady  with  a  parasol. 

I  thought  all  Herculaneum  sad  enough,  but  the 
profusion  of  flowers  growing  wild  in  this  garden 
gave  it  yet  more  tender  and  pathetic  charm.  Here 
—  where  so  long  ago  the  flowers  had  bloomed,  and 
perished  in  the  terrible  blossoming  of  the  mountain 
that  sent  up  its  fires  in  the  awful  similitude  of  Na- 


104  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

ture's  harmless  and  lovely  forms,  and  showered  its 
destroying  petals  all  abroad — was  it  not  tragic  to 
find  again  the  soft  tints,  the  graceful  shapes,  the 
sweet  perfumes  of  the  earth's  immortal  life  ?  Of 
them  that  planted  and  tended  and  plucked  and  bore 
in  their  bosoms  and  twined  in  their  hair  these  fragile 
children  of  the  summer,  what  witness  in  the  world  ? 
Only  the  crouching  skeletons  under  the  tables. 
Alas  and  alas  ! 

v 

THE  skeletons  went  with  us  throughout  Hercula- 
neum,  and  descended  into  the  cell,  all  green  with 
damp,  under  the  basilica,  and  lay  down,  fettered  and 
manacled  in  the  place  of  those  found  there  beside 
the  big  bronze  kettle  in  which  the  prisoners  used  to 
cook  their  dinners.  How  ghastly  the  thought  of  it 
was !  If  we  had  really  seen  this  kettle  and  the 
skeletons  there — as  we  did  not — we  could  not  have 
suffered  more  than  we  did.  They  took  all  the  life 
out  of  the  House  of  Perseus,  and  the  beauty  from 
his  pretty  little  domestic  temple  to  the  Penates,  and 
this  was  all  there  was  left  in  Herculaneum  to  see. 

"  Is  there  nothing  else  ? "  we  demand  of  the 
custodian. 

"  Signori,  this  is  all." 

"  It  is  mighty  little." 

"  Perdoni,  signore  !  ma -." 

"  Well,"  we  said  sourly  to  each  other,  glancing 
round  at  the  walls  of  the  pit,  on  the  bottom  of 
which  the  bit  of  city  stands,  "  it  is  a  good  thing  to 
know  that  Herculaneum  amounts  to  nothing." 


X.     CAPRI    AND    CAPRIOTES 


WE  delayed  some  days  in  Naples  in  hopes  of 
fine  weather,  and  at  last  chose  a  morning 
that  was  warm  and  cloudy  at  nine  o'clock,  and 
burst  into  frequent  passions  of  rain  before  we 
reached  Sorrento  at  noon.  The  first  half  of  the 
journey  was  made  by  rail,  and  brought  us  to  Castel- 
lamare,  whence  we  took  carriage  for  Sorrento,  and 
oranges,  and  rapture,  —  winding  along  the  steep 
shore  of  the  sea,  and  under  the  brows  of  wooded 
hills  that  rose  high  above  us  into  the  misty  weather, 
and  caught  here  and  there  the  sunshine  on  their 
tops.  In  that  heavenly  climate  no  day  can  long  be 
out  of  humor,  and  at  Sorrento  we  found  ours  very 


106  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

pleasant,  and  rode  delightedly  through  the  devious 
streets,  looking  up  to  the  terraced  orange-groves 
on  one  hand,  and  down  to  the  terraced  orange- 
groves  on  the  other,  until  at  a  certain  turning  of  the 
way  we  encountered  Antonino  Occhio  d'  Argento, 
whom  fate  had  appointed  to  be  our  boatman  to 
Capri.  We  had  never  heard  of  Antonino  before, 
and  indeed  had  intended  to  take  a  boat  from  one  oi 
the  hotels  ;  but  when  this  corsair  offered  us  his 
services,  there  was  that  guile  in  his  handsome  face, 
that  cunning  in  his  dark  eyes,  which  heart  could  not 
resist,  and  we  halted  our  carriage  and  took  him  at 
once. 

He  kept  his  boat  in  one  of  those  caverns  which 
honeycomb  the  cliff  under  Sorrento,  and  afford  a 
natural  and  admirable  shelter  for  such  small  craft 
as  may  be  dragged  up  out  of  reach  of  the  waves, 
and  here  I  bargained  with  him  before  finally  agree 
ing  to  go  with  him  to  Capri.  In  Italy  it  is  custo 
mary  for  a  public  carrier  when  engaged  to  give  his 
employer  as  a  pledge  the  sum  agreed  upon  for  the 
service,  which  is  returned  with  the  amount  due  him, 
at  the  end,  if  the  service  has  been  satisfactory ;  and 
I  demanded  of  Antonino  this  cafiarra,  as  it  is  called. 
"  What  caparra  ? "  said  he,  lifting  the  lid  of  his 
wicked  eye  with  his  forefinger,  "this  is  the  best 
caparra,"  meaning  a  face  as  honest  and  trustworthy 
as  the  devil's.  The  stroke  confirmed  my  subjection 
to  Antonino,  and  I  took  his  boat  without  further 
parley,  declining  even  to  feel  the  muscles  of  his 
boatmen's  arms,  which  he  exposed  to  my  touch  in 


CAPRI    AND    CAPRIOTES        107 

evidence  that  they  were  strong  enough  to  row  us 
swiftly  to  Capri.     The  men  were  only  two  in  num 
ber,  but  they  tossed  the  boat  lightly  into  the  surf, 
and  then  lifted  me  aboard,  and  rowed  to  the  little  L, 
pier  from  which  the  ladies  and  T.  got  in. 

The  sun  shone,  the  water  danced  and  sparkled, 
and  presently  we  raised  our  sail,  and  took  the  gale 
that  blew  for  Capri  —  an  oblong  height  rising  ten 
miles  beyond  out  of  the  heart  of  the  azure  gulf. 
On  the  way  thither  there  was  little  interest  but  that 
of  natural  beauty  in  the  bold,  picturesque  coast  we 
skirted  for  some  distance ;  though  on  one  mighty 
rock  there  were  the  ruins  of  a  seaward-looking  Tem 
ple  of  Hercules,  with  arches  of  the  unmistakable 
Roman  masonry,  below  which  the  receding  waves 
rushed  and  poured  over  a  jetting  ledge  in  a  thunder 
ous  cataract. 

Antonino  did  his  best  to  entertain  us,  and  lec 
tured  us  unceasingly  upon  virtue  and  his  wisdom, 
dwelling  greatly  on  the  propriety  and  good  policy 
of  always  speaking  the  truth.  This  spectacle  of 
veracity  became  intolerable  after  a  while,  and  I  was 
goaded  to  say :  "  Oh  then,  if  you  never  tell  lies,  you 
expect  to  go  to  Paradise."  "Not  at  all,"  answered 
Antonino  compassionately,  "for  I  have  sinned 
much.  But  the  lie  does  n't  go  ahead "  (non  va 
avanti),  added  this  Machiavelli  of  boatmen  ;  yet  I 
think  he  was  mistaken,  for  he  deceived  us  with  per 
fect  ease  and  admirable  success.  All  along  he  had 
pretended  that  we  could  see  Capri,  visit  the  Blue 
Grotto,  and  return  that  day  ;  but  as  we  drew  near 


io8  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

the  island,  painful  doubts  began  to  trouble  him,  and 
he  feared  the  sea  would  be  too  rough  for  the  Grotto 
part  of  the  affair.  "  But  there  will  be  an  old  man," 
he  said,  with  a  subtile  air  of  prophecy,  "  waiting  for 
us  on  the  beach.  This  old  man  is  one  of  the  gov 
ernment  guides  to  the  Grotto,  and  he  will  say 
whether  it  is  to  be  seen  to-day." 

And  certainly  there  was  the  old  man  on  the  beach 
—  a  short  patriarch,  with  his  baldness  covered  by  a 
kind  of  bloated  woolen  sock — a  blear-eyed  sage,  and 
a  barelegged.  He  waded  through  the  surf  toward 
the  boat,  and  when  we  asked  him  whether  the 
Grotto  was  to  be  seen,  he  paused  knee-deep  in  the 
water  (at  a  secret  signal  from  Antonino,  as  I  shall 
always  believe),  put  on  a  face  of  tender  solemnity, 
threw  back  his  head  a  little,  brought  his  hand  to  his 
cheek,  expanded  it,  and  said,  "  No  ;  to-day,  no  !  To 
morrow,  yes  !  "  Antonino  leaped  joyously  ashore, 
and  delivered  us  over  to  the  old  man,  to  be  guided 
to  the  Hotel  di  Londra,  while  he  threw  his  boat  upon 
the  land.  He  had  reason  to  be  contented,  for  this 
artifice  of  the  patriarch  of  Capri  relieved  him  from 
the  necessity  of  verifying  to  me  the  existence  of  an 
officer  of  extraordinary  powers  in  the  nature  of  a 
consul,  who,  he  said,  would  not  permit  boats  to  leave 
Capri  for  the  mainland  after  five  o'clock  in  the  even 
ing. 

When  it  was  decided  that  we  should  remain  o 
the  island  till  the  morrow,  we  found  so  much  tim 
on  our  hands,  after  bargaining  for  our  lodging  a 
the  Hotel  di  Londra,  that  we  resolved  to  ascend  th 


•£&/< 


/ 

-      *'  -•  ; 


rv     s     A  i 
/   / 

THE  GATE  OF  CAPRI 


CAPRI   AND   CAPRIOTES        109 

mountain  to  the  ruins  of  the  palaces  of  Tiberius,  and 
to  this  end  we  contracted  for  the  services  of  certain 
of  the  muletresses  that  had  gathered  about  the  inn- 
gate,  clamorously  offering  their  beasts.  The  mule- 
tresses  chosen  were  a  matron  of  mature  years  and 
of  a  portly  habit  of  body ;  her  daughter,  a  mere 
child  ;  and  her  niece,  a  very  pretty  girl  of  eighteen, 
with  a  voice  soft  and  sweet  as  a  bird's.  They  placed 
the  ladies,  one  on  each  mule,  and  then,  while  the 
mother  and  daughter  devoted  themselves  to  the 
hind-quarters  of  the  foremost  animal,  the  lovely  niece 
brought  up  the  rear  of  the  second  beast,  and  the 
patriarch  went  before,  and  T.  and  I  trudged  behind. 
So  the  cavalcade  ascended  ;  first,  from  the  terrace  of 
the  hotel  overlooking  the  bit  of  shipping  village  on 
the  beach,  and  next  from  the  town  of  Capri,  clinging 
to  the  hillsides,  midway  between  sea  and  sky,  until 
at  last  it  reached  the  heights  on  which  the  ruins 
stand.  Our  way  was  through  narrow  lanes,  bordered 
by  garden  walls ;  then  through  narrow  streets  bor 
dered  by  dirty  houses  ;  and  then  again  by  gardens, 
but  now  of  a  better  sort  than  the  first,  and  belong 
ing  to  handsome  villas. 

On  the  road  our  pretty  muletress  gossiped  cheer 
fully,  and  our  patriarch  gloomily,  and  between  the 
two  we  accumulated  a  store  of  information  concern 
ing  the  present  inhabitants  of  Capri,  which,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  has  now  for  the  most  part  failed  me. 
I  remember  that  they  said  most  of  the  land-owners  at 
Capri  were  Neapolitans,  and  that  these  villas  were 
their  country-houses  ;  though  they  pointed  out  one 


no  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

of  the  stateliest  of  the  edifices  as  belonging  to  a 
certain  English  physician  who  had  come  to  visit 
Capri  for  a  few  days,  and  had  now  been  living  on  the 
island  twenty  years,  having  married  (said  the  mule- 
tress)  the  prettiest  and  poorest  girl  in  the  town. 
From  this  romance  —  something  like  which  the 
muletress  seemed  to  think  might  well  happen  con 
cerning  herself  —  we  passed  lightly  to  speak  of 
kindred  things,  the  muletress  responding  gayly  be 
tween  the  blows  she  bestowed  upon  her  beast.  The 
accent  of  these  Capriotes  has  something  of  German 
harshness  and  heaviness:  they  say  non  bosso  instead 
of  non  posso,  and  monto  instead  of  mondo,  and  inter 
change  the  /  and  d  a  good  deal ;  and  they  use  for 
father  the  Latin  pater,  instead  of  padre.  But  this 
girl's  voice,  as  I  said,  was  very  musical,  and  the 
island's  accent  was  sweet  upon  her  tongue. 

7.  —  What  is  your  name  ? 

She.  —  Caterina,  little  sir  (signoriti). 

I.  —  And  how  old  are  you,  Caterina  ? 

She.  —  Eighteen,  little  sir. 

/.  —  And  you  are  betrothed  ? 

She  feigns  not  to  understand  ;  but  the  patriarch, 
who  has  dropped  behind  to  listen  to  our  discourse, 
explains,  —  "He  asks  if  you  are  in  love." 

She.  —  Ah,  no  !  little  sir,  not  yet. 

/.  — No  ?  A  little  late,  it  seems  to  me.  I  think 
there  must  be  some  good-looking  youngster  who 
pleases  you  —  no  ? 

She.  —  Ah,  no  !  one  must  work,  one  cannot  think 
of  marrying.  We  are  four  sisters,  and  we  have  only 


CAPRI   AND    CAPRIOTES        in 

the  buonamano  from  hiring  these  mules,  and  we 
must  spin  and  cook. 

The  Patriarch,  —  Don't  believe  her  ;  she  has  two 
lovers. 

She.  —  Ah,  no  !  It  is  n't  true.    He  tells  a  fib  —  he  ! 

But,  nevertheless,  she  seemed  to  love  to  be  accused 
of  lovers,  —  such  is  the  guile  of  the  female  heart  in 
Capri,  —  and  laughed  over  the  patriarch's  wicked 
ness.  She  confided  that  she  ate  maccaroni  once  a 
day,  and  she  talked  constantly  of  eating  it  just  as  the 
Northern  Italians  always  talk  of  polenta.  She  was 
a  true  daughter  of  the  isle,  and  had  left  it  but  once 
in  her  life,  when  she  went  to  Naples.  "  Naples  was 
beautiful,  yes  ;  but  one  always  loves  one's  own  coun 
try  the  best."  She  was  very  attentive  and  good, 
but  at  the  end  was  rapacious  of  more  and  more 
buonamano.  "  Have  patience  with  her,  sir,"  said 
the  blameless  Antonino,  who  witnessed  her  greedi 
ness  ;  "  they  do  not  understand  certain  matters  here, 
poor  little  things  !  " 

As  for  the  patriarch,  he  was  full  of  learning  rela 
tive  to  himself  and  to  Capri ;  and  told  me  with  much 
elaboration  that  the  islanders  lived  chiefly  by  fishing, 
and  gained  something  also  by  their  vineyards.  But 
they  were  greatly  oppressed  by  taxes  and  the  strict 
enforcement  of  the  conscriptions,  and  they  had  little 
love  for  the  Italian  government,  and  wished  the 
Bourbons  back  again.  The  Piedmontese,  indeed, 
misgoverned  them  horribly.  There  was  the  Blue 
Grotto,  for  example  :  formerly  travelers  paid  the 
guides  five,  six,  ten  francs  for  viewing  it ;  but  now 


112  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

the  Piedmontese  had  made  a  tariff,  and  the  poor 
guides  could  only  exact  a  franc  from  each  person. 
Things  were  in  a  ruinous  condition. 

By  this  we  had  arrived  at  a  little  inn  on  the  top 
of  the  mountain,  very  near  the  ruins  of  the  palaces. 
"Here,"  said  the  patriarch,  "it  is  customary  for 
strangers  to  drink  a  bottle  of  the  wine  of  Tiberius." 
We  obediently  entered  the  hostelry,  and  the  land 
lord —  a  white-toothed,  brown-faced,  good-humored 
peasant  —  gallantly  ran  forward  and  presented  the 
ladies  with  bouquets  of  roses.  We  thought  it  a 
pretty  and  graceful  act,  but  found  later  that  it  was 
to  be  paid  for,  like  all  pretty  and  graceful  things  in 
Italy  ;  for  when  we  came  to  settle  for  the  wine,  and 
the  landlord  wanted  more  than  justice,  he  urged  that 
he  had  presented  the  ladies  with  flowers,  —  yet  he 
equally  gave  me  his  benediction  when  I  refused  to 
pay  for  his  politeness. 

"  Now  here,"  again  said  the  patriarch  in  a  solemn 
whisper,  "  you  can  see  the  Tarantella  danced  for  two 
francs ;  whereas  down  at  your  inn,  if  you  hire  the 
dancers  through  your  landlord,  it  will  cost  you  five 
or  six  francs."  The  difference  was  tempting,  and 
decided  us  in  favor  of  an  immediate  Tarantella. 
The  muletresses  left  their  beasts  to  browse  about  the 
door  of  the  inn  and  came  into  the  little  public  room, 
where  were  already  the  wife  and  sister  of  the  land 
lord,  and  took  their  places  vis-d-vis,  while  the  land 
lord  seized  his  tambourine  and  beat  from  it  a  wild 
and  lively  measure.  The  women  were  barefooted 
and  hoopless,  and  they  gave  us  the  Tarantella  with 


CAPRI   AND   CAPRIOTES        113 

all  the  beauty  of  natural  movement  and  free  floating 
drapery,  and  with  all  that  splendid  grace  of  pose 
which  animates  the  antique  statues  and  pictures  of 
dancers.  They  swayed  themselves  in  time  with  the 
music ;  then,  filled  with  its  passionate  impulse,  ad 
vanced  and  retreated  and  whirled  away  ;  —  snapping 
their  fingers  above  their  heads,  and  looking  over 
their  shoulders  with  a  gay  and  a  laughing  challenge 
to  each  other,  they  drifted  through  the  ever-repeated 
figures  of  flight  and  wooing,  and  wove  for  us  pictures 
of  delight  that  remained  upon  the  brain  like  the  ef 
fect  of  long-pondered  vivid  colors,  and  still  return  to 
illumine  and  complete  any  representation  of  that 
indescribable  dance.  Heaven  knows  what  peril  there 
might  have  been  in  the  beauty  and  grace  of  the 
pretty  muletress  but  for  the  spectacle  of  her  fat 
aunt,  who  burlesqued  some  of  her  niece's  airiest 
movements,  and  whose  hard-bought  buoyancy  was 
pathetic.  She  earned  her  share  of  the  spoils  cer 
tainly,  and  she  seemed  glad  when  the  dance  was 
over,  and  went  contentedly  back  to  her  mule. 

The  patriarch  had  early  retired  from  the  scene  as 
from  a  vanity  with  which  he  was  too  familiar  for  en 
joyment,  and  I  found  him,  when  the  Tarantella  was 
done,  leaning  on  the  curb  of  the  precipitous  rock 
immediately  behind  the  inn,  over  which  the  Capriotes 
say  Tiberius  used  to  cast  the  victims  of  his  pleasures 
after  he  was  sated  with  them.  These  have  taken 
their  place  in  the  insular  imagination  as  Christian 
martyrs,  though  it  is  probable  that  the  poor  souls 
were  anything  but  Nazarenes,  It  took  a  stone 


114  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

thrown  from  the  brink  of  the  rock  twenty  seconds  to 
send  back  a  response  from  the  water  below,  and  the 
depth  was  too  dizzying  to  look  into.  So  we  looked 
instead  toward  Amalfi,  across  the  Gulf  of  Salerno, 
and  toward  Naples,  across  her  bay.  On  every  hand 
the  sea  was  flushed  with  sunset,  and  an  unspeakable 
calm  dwelt  upon  it,  while  the  heights  rising  from  it 
softened  and  softened  in  the  distance,  and  withdrew 
themselves  into  dreams  of  ghostly  solitude  and  phan 
tom  city.  The  Emperor  Tiberius  is  well  known  to 
have  been  a  man  of  sentiment,  and  he  may  often 
have  sought  this  spot  to  enjoy  the  evening  hour. 
It  was  convenient  to  his  palace,  and  he  could  here 
give  a  fillip  to  his  jaded  sensibilities  by  popping  a 
boon  companion  over  the  cliff,  and  thus  enjoy  the 
fine  poetic  contrast  which  his  perturbed  and  horrible 
spirit  afforded  to  that  scene  of  innocence  and  peace. 

The  poor  patriarch  was  also  a  rascal  in  his  small 
way,  and  he  presently  turned  to  me  with  a  counte 
nance  full  of  cowardly  trouble  and  base  remorse. 
"  I  pray  you,  little  sir,  not  to  tell  the  landlord  below 
there  that  you  have  seen  the  Tarantella  danced 
here  ;  for  he  has  daughters  and  friends  to  dance  it 
for  strangers,  and  gets  a  deal  of  money  by  it.  So, 
if  he  asks  you  to  see  it,  do  me  the  pleasure  to  say, 
lest  he  should  take  on  (pigliarsi)  with  me  about  it : 
'Thanks,  but  we  saw  the  Tarantella  at  Pompeii ! ' ' 

The  patriarch  had  a  curious  spice  of  malice  in 
him,  which  prompted  him  to  speak  evil  of  all,  and  to 
as  many  as  he  dared.  After  we  had  inspected  the 
ruins  of  the  emperor's  villa,  a  clownish  imbecile  of  a 


CAPRI   AND   CAPRIOTES        115 

woman,  professing  to  be  the  wife  of  the  peasant 
who  had  made  the  excavations,  came  forth  out  of  a 
cleft  in  the  rock  and  received  tribute  of  us — why,  I 
do  not  know.  The  patriarch  abetted  the  extortion, 
but  Parthianly  remarked,  as  we  turned  away,  "  Her 
husband  ought  to  be  here ;  but  this  is  a  festa  and 
he  is  drinking  and  gaming  in  the  village,"  while  the 
woman  protested  that  he  was  sick  at  home.  There 
was  also  a  hermit  living  in  great  publicity  among  the 
ruins,  and  the  patriarch  did  not  spare  him  a  sneering 
comment.1  He  had  even  a  bad  word  for  Tiberius, 
and  reproached  the  emperor  for  throwing  people 
over  the  cliff.  The  only  human  creatures  with 
whom  he  seemed  to  be  in  sympathy  were  the  bri 
gands  of  the  mainland,  of  whom  he  spoke  poetically 
as  exiles  and  fugitives. 

As  for  the  palace  of  Tiberius,  which  we  had  come 
so  far  and  so  toilsomely  to  see,  it  must  be  confessed 
there  was  very  little  left  of  it.  When  he  died,  the 
Senate  demolished  his  pleasure-houses  at  Capri,  and 
left  only  those  fragments  of  the  beautiful  brick  ma 
sonry  which  yet  remain,  clinging  indestructible  to 
the  rocks,  and  strewing  the  ground  with  rubbish. 
The  recent  excavations  have  discovered  nothing  be 
sides  the  uninteresting  foundations  of  the  building, 
except  a  subterranean  avenue  leading  from  one  part 
of  the  palace  to  another ;  this  is  walled  with  delicate 

1  This  hermit  I  have  heard  was  not  brought  up  to  the  profession 
of  anchorite,  but  was  formerly  a  shoemaker,  and  according  to  his 
own  confession  abandoned  his  trade  because  he  could  better  in 
dulge  a  lethargic  habit  in  the  character  of  religious  recluse. 


ii6  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

brickwork,  and  exquisitely  paved  with  white  marble 
mosaic  ;  and  this  was  all  that  witnessed  of  the  splen 
dor  of  the  wicked  emperor.  Nature,  the  all-forget 
ting,  all-forgiving,  that  takes  the  red  battlefield  into 
her  arms  and  hides  it  with  blossom  and  harvest, 
could  not  remember  his  iniquity,  greater  than  the 
multitudinous  murder  of  war.  The  sea,  which  the 
despot's  lust  and  fear  had  made  so  lonely,  slept  with 
the  white  sails  of  boats  secure  upon  its  breast ;  the 
little  bays  and  inlets,  the  rocky  clefts  and  woody 
dells  had  forgotten  their  desecration  ;  and  the  gath 
ering  twilight,  the  sweetness  of  the  garden-bordered 
pathway,  and  the  serenity  of  the  lonely  landscape, 
helped  us  to  doubt  history. 

We  slowly  returned  to  the  inn  by  the  road  we  had 
ascended,  noting  again  the  mansion  of  the  surprising 
Englishman  who  had  come  to  Capri  for  three  months 
and  had  remained  thirty  years  ;  passed  through  the 
darkness  of  the  village,  —  dropped  here  and  there 
with  the  vivid  red  of  a  lamp,  —  and  so  reached  the 
inn  at  last,  where  we  found  the  landlord  ready  to 
have  the  Tarantella  danced  for  us.  We  framed  a  dis- 
creeter  fiction  than  that  prepared  for  us  by  the  pa 
triarch,  and  went  in  to  dinner,  where  there  were  two 
Danish  gentlemen  in  dispute  with  as  many  rogues  of 
boatmen,  who,  having  contracted  to  take  them  back 
that  night  to  Naples,  were  now  trying  to  fly  their 
bargain  and  remain  at  Capri  till  the  morrow.  The 
Danes  beat  them,  however,  and  then  sat  down  to 
dinner,  and  to  long  stories  of  the  imposture  and  vil 
lainy  of  the  Italians.  One  of  them  chiefly  bewailed 


CAPRI,  PALACE  OF  TIBERIUS  FROM  THE  HARBOR 


CAPRI   AND   CAPRIOTES        117 

himself  that  the  day  before,  having  unwisely  eaten  a 
dozen  oysters  without  agreeing  first  with  the  oyster- 
men  upon  the  price,  he  had  been  obliged  to  pay  this 
scamp's  extortionate  demand  to  the  full,  since  he  was 
unable  to  restore  him  his  property.  We  thought 
that  something  like  this  might  have  happened  to  an 
imprudent  man  in  any  country,  but  we  did  not  the 
less  join  him  in  abusing  the  Italians  —  the  purpose  {  J 
for  which  foreigners  chiefly  visit  Italy. 

ii 

STANDING  on  the  height  among  the  ruins  of  Ti- 
berius's  palace,  the  patriarch  had  looked  out  over 
the  waters,  and  predicted  for  the  morrow  the  finest 
weather  that  had  ever  been  known  in  that  region  ; 
but  in  spite  of  this  prophecy  the  day  dawned  storm- 
ily,  and  at  breakfast  time  we  looked  out  doubtfully 
on  waves  lashed  by  driving  rain.  The  entrance  to 
the  Blue  Grotto,  to  visit  which  we  had  come  to 
Capri,  is  by  a  semicircular  opening,  some  three  feet 
in  width  and  two  feet  in  height,  and  just  large 
enough  to  admit  a  small  boat.  One  lies  flat  in  the 
bottom  of  this,  waits  for  the  impulse  of  a  beneficent 
wave,  and  is  carried  through  the  mouth  of  the  cav 
ern,  and  rescued  from  it  in  like  manner  by  some 
receding  billow.  When  the  wind  is  in  the  wrong 
quarter,  it  is  impossible  to  enter  the  grot  at  all ;  and 
we  waited  till  nine  o'clock  for  the  storm  to  abate 
before  we  ventured  forth.  In  the  mean  time  one 
of  the  Danish  gentlemen,  who  —  after  assisting  his 
companion  to  compel  the  boatmen  to  justice  the 


n8  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

night  before  —  had  stayed  at  Capri,  and  had  risen 
early  to  see  the  grotto,  returned  from  it,  and  we  be 
sieged  him  with  a  hundred  questions  concerning  it. 
But  he  preserved  the  wise  silence  of  the  boy  who 
goes  in  to  see  the  six-legged  calf,  and  comes  out  im 
pervious  to  the  curiosity  of  all  the  boys  who  are 
doubtful  whether  the  monster  is  worth  their  money. 
Our  Dane  would  merely  say  that  it  was  now  possi 
ble  to  visit  the  Blue  Grotto ;  that  he  had  seen  it ; 
that  he  was  glad  he  had  seen  it .  As  to  its  blue- 
ness,  Messieurs —  yes,  it  is  blue.  Cestadire.  .  .  . 
The  ladies  had  been  amusing  themselves  with  a 
perusal  of  the  hotel  register,  and  the  notes  of  ad 
miration  or  disgust  with  which  the  different  so- 
journers  at  the  inn  had  filled  it.  As  a  rule,  the 
English  people  found  fault  with  the  poor  little  hos 
telry  and  the  French  people  praised  it.  Commander 
Joshing  and  Lieutenant  Prattent,  R.  N.,  of  the  for 
mer  nation,  "  were  cheated  by  the  donkey  women, 
and  thought  themselves  extremely  fortunate  to  have 
escaped  with  their  lives  from  the  effects  of  Capri 
vintage.  The  landlord  was  an  old  Cossack."  On 
the  other  hand,  we  read,  "J.  Cruttard,  homme  de 
lettres,  a  passe  quinze  jours  ici,  et  n'a  eu  que  des 
felicite's  du  patron  de  cet  hotel  et  de  sa  famille." 
Cheerful  man  of  letters  !  His  good-natured  record 
will  keep  green  a  name  little  known  to  literature 
Who  are  G.  Bradshaw,  Duke  of  New  York,  and  Si- 
gnori  Jones  and  Andrews,  Hereditary  Princes  of  th< 
United  States  ?  Their  patrician  names  followed 
the  titles  of  several  English  nobles  in  the  register. 


CAPRI   AND   CAPRIOTES        119 

But  that  which  most  interested  the  ladies  in  this 
record  was  the  warning  of  a  terrified  British  matron 
against  any  visit  to  the  Blue  Grotto  except  in  the 
very  calmest  weather.  The  British  matron  penned 
her  caution  after  an  all  but  fatal  experience.  The 
ladies  read  it  aloud  to  us,  and  announced  that  for 
themselves  they  would  be  contented  with  pictures 
of  the  Blue  Grotto  and  our  account  of  its  marvels. 

On  the  beach  below  the  hotel  lay  the  small  boats 
of  the  guides  to  the  Blue  Grotto,  and  we  descended 
to  take  one  of  them.  The  fixed  rate  is  a  franc  for 
each  person.  The  boatmen  wanted  five  francs  for 
each  of  us.  We  explained  that  although  not  in 
digenous  to  Capri,  or  even  Italy,  we  were  not  of 
the  succulent  growth  of  travelers,  and  would  not 
be  eaten.  We  retired  to  our  vantage-ground  on  the 
heights.  The  guides  called  us  to  the  beach  again. 
They  would  take  us  for  three  francs  apiece,  or  say 
six  francs  for  both  of  us.  We  withdrew  furious  to 
the  heights  again,  where  we  found  honest  Antonino, 
who  did  us  the  pleasure  to  yell  to  his  fellow-scoun 
drels  on  the  beach,  "  You  had  better  take  these 
signori  for  a  just  price.  They  are  going  to  the  syn 
dic  to  complain  of  you."  At  which  there  arose  a 
lamentable  outcry  among  the  boatmen,  and  they 
called  with  one  voice  for  us  to  come  down  and  go 
for  a  franc  apiece. 

We  had  scarcely  left  the  landing  of  the  hotel  in 
the  boat  of  the  patriarch  —  for  I  need  hardly  say  he 
was  first  and  most  rapacious  of  the  plundering  crew 
—  when  we  found  ourselves  in  very  turbulent  waters, 


120  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

in  the  face  of  mighty  bluffs,  rising  inaccessible  from 
the  sea.  Here  and  there,  where  their  swarthy  fronts 
were  softened  with  a  little  verdure,  goat-paths  wound 
up  and  down  among  the  rocks ;  and  midway  between 
the  hotel  and  the  grotto,  in  a  sort  of  sheltered  nook, 
we  saw  the  Roman  masonry  of  certain  antique  baths 
—  baths  of  Augustus,  says  Valery;  baths  of  Tibe 
rius,  say  the  Capriotes,  zealous  for  the  honor  of  their 
infamous  hero.  Howbeit,  this  was  all  we  saw  on  the 
way  to  the  Blue  Grotto.  Every  moment  the  waves 
rose  higher,  emulous  of  the  bluffs,  which  would  not 
have  afforded  a  foothold,  or  anything  to  cling  to,  had 
we  been  upset  and  washed  against  them  —  and  we 
began  to  talk  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  As  we 
neared  the  grotto,  the  patriarch  entertained  us  with 
stories  of  the  perilous  adventures  of  people  who 
insisted  upon  entering  it  in  stormy  weather,  —  es 
pecially  of  a  French  painter  who  had  been  impris 
oned  in  it  four  days,  and  kept  alive  only  on  rum, 
which  the  patriarch  supplied  him,  swimming  into  the 
grotto  with  a  bottleful  at  a  time.  "  And  behold  us 
arrived,  gentlemen !  "  said  he,  as  he  brought  the  boat 
skillfully  around  in  front  of  the  small  semicircular 
opening  at  the  base  of  the  lofty  bluff.  We  lie  flat  on 
the  bottom  of  the  boat,  and  complete  the  immersion 
of  that  part  of  our  clothing  which  the  driving  tor 
rents  of  rain  had  spared.  The  wave  of  destiny  rises 
with  us  upon  its  breast  —  sinks,  and  we  are  inside  of 
the  Blue  Grotto.  Not  so  much  blue  as  gray,  how 
ever,  and  the  water  about  the  mouth  of  it  green 
rather  than  azure.  They  say  that  on  a  sunny  day 


THE  PIAZZA,  CAPRI 


CAPRI   AND   CAPRIOTES        121 

both  the  water  and  the  roof  of  the  cavern  are  of 
the  vividest  cerulean  tint  —  and  I  saw  the  grotto  so 
represented  in  the  windows  of  the  paint-shops  at 
Naples.  But  to  my  own  experience  it  did  not  differ 
from  other  caves  in  color  or  form  :  there  was  the 
customary  clamminess  in  the  air ;  the  sound  of  drop 
ping  water  ;  the  sense  of  dull  and  stupid  solitude,  — 
a  little  relieved  in  this  case  by  the  mighty  music  of 
the  waves  breaking  against  the  rocks  outside.  The 
grot  is  not  great  in  extent,  and  the  roof  in  the  rear 
shelves  gradually  down  to  the  water.  Valery  says 
that  some  remains  of  a  gallery  have  caused  the  sup 
position  that  the  grotto  was  once  the  scene  of  Tibe 
rius' s  pleasures  ;  and  the  Prussian  painter  who  dis 
covered  the  cave  was  led  to  seek  it  by  something 
he  had  read  of  a  staircase  by  which  Barbarossa  used 
to  descend  into  a  subterranean  retreat  from  the  town 
of  Anacapri  on  the  mountain-top.  The  slight  frag 
ment  of  ruin  which  we  saw  in  one  corner  of  the  cave 
might  be  taken  in  confirmation  of  both  theories ; 
but  the  patriarch  attributed  the  work  to  Barbarossa, 
being  probably  tired  at  last  of  hearing  Tiberius  so 
much  talked  about. 

We  returned,  soaked  and  disappointed,  to  the  ho 
tel,  where  we  found  Antonino  very  doubtful  about 
the  possibility  of  getting  back  that  day  to  Sorrento, 
and  disposed,  when  pooh-poohed  out  of  the  notion  of 
bad  weather,  to  revive  the  fiction  of  a  prohibitory 
consul.  He  was  staying  in  Capri  at  our  expense, 
and  the  honest  fellow  would  willingly  have  spent  a 
fortnight  there. 


122  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

We  summoned  the  landlord  to  settlement,  and  he 
came  with  all  his  household  to  present  the  account, 
—  each  one  full  of  visible  longing,  yet  restrained 
from  asking  buonamano  by  a  strong  sense  of  previ 
ous  contract.  It  was  a  deadly  struggle  with  them, 
but  they  conquered  themselves,  and  blessed  us  as  we 
departed.  The  pretty  muletress  took  leave  of  us 
on  the  beach,  and  we  set  sail  for  Sorrento,  the  ladies 
crouching  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  and  taking  their 
seasickness  in  silence.  As  we  drew  near  the  beau 
tiful  town,  we  saw  how  it  lay  on  a  plateau,  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountains,  but  high  above  the  sea.  An- 
tonino  pointed  out  to  us  the  house  of  Tasso,  —  in 
which  the  novelist  Cooper  also  resided  when  in  Sor 
rento, —  a  white  house  not  handsomer  nor  uglier 
than  the  rest,  with  a  terrace  looking  out  over  the 
water.  The  bluffs  are  pierced  by  numerous  arched 
caverns,  as  I  have  said,  giving  shelter  to  the  fisher 
men's  boats,  and  here  and  there  a  devious  stairway 
mounts  to  their  crests.  Up  one  of  these  we  walked, 
noting  how  in  the  house  above  us  the  people,  with 
that  puerility  usually  mixed  with  the  Italian  love  of 
beauty,  had  placed  painted  busts  of  terra-cotta  in  the 
windows  to  simulate  persons  looking  out.  There 
was  nothing  to  blame  in  the  breakfast  we  found 
ready  at  the  Hotel  Rispoli ;  or  in  the  grove  of  slen 
der,  graceful  orange-trees  in  the  midst  of  which  the 
hotel  stood,  and  which  had  lavished  the  fruit  in 
every  direction  on  the  ground. 

Antonino  attended  us  to  our  carriage  when  we 
went  away.  He  had  kept  us  all  night  at  Capri,  it  is 


/ 


m 


CAPRI   AND    CAPRIOTES        123 

true,  and  he  had  brought  us  in  at  the  end  for  a 
prodigious  buonamano  ;  yet  I  cannot  escape  the  con 
viction  that  he  parted  from  us  with  an  unfulfilled 
purpose  of  greater  plunder,  and  I  have  a  compas 
sion,  which  I  here  declare,  for  the  strangers  who  fell 
next  into  his  hands.  He  was  good  enough  at  the 
last  moment  to  say  that  his  name,  Silver-Eye,  was 
a  nickname  given  him  according  to  a  custom  of  the 
Sorrentines ;  and  he  made  us  a  farewell  bow  that 
could  not  be  bought  in  America  for  money. 

At  the  station  of  Castellamare  sat  a  curious  cripple 
on  the  stones,  —  a  man  with  little,  short,  withered 
legs,  and  a  pleasant  face.  He  showed  us  the  ticket- 
office,  and  wanted  nothing  for  the  politeness.  After 
we  had  been  in  the  waiting-room  a  brief  time,  he 
came  swinging  himself  in  upon  his  hands,  followed 
by  another  person,  who,  when  the  cripple  had 
planted  himself  finally  and  squarely  on  the  ground, 
whipped  out  a  tape  from  his  pocket  and  took  his 
measure  for  a  suit  of  clothes,  the  cripple  twirling 
and  twisting  himself  about  in  every  way  for  the 
tailor's  convenience.  Nobody  was  surprised  or 
amused  at  the  sight,  and  when  his  measure  was  thus 
publicly  taken,  the  cripple  gravely  swung  himself 
out  as  he  had  swung  himself  in. 


XI.     BETWEEN  ROME  AND  NAPLES 

ONE  day  it  became  plain  even  to  our  reluc 
tance  that  we  could  not  stay  in  Naples  for 
ever,  and  the  next  morning  we  took  the  train  for 
Rome.  The  Villa  Reale  put  on  its  most  alluring 
charm  to  him  that  ran  down  before  breakfast  to 
thrid  once  more  its  pathways  bordered  with  palms 
and  fountains  and  statues  ;  the  bay  beside  it  purpled 
and  twinkled  in  the  light  that  made  silver  of  the 
fishermen's  sails ;  far  away  rose  Vesuvius  with  his 
nightcap  of  mist  still  hanging  about  his  shoulders  ; 
all  around  rang  and  rattled  Naples.  The  city  was 
never  so  fair  before,  nor  could  ever  have  been  so 
hard  to  leave  ;  and  at  the  last  moment  the  landlord 
of  the  Hotel  Washington  must  needs  add  a  supreme 
pang  by  developing  into  a  poet,  and  presenting  me 
with  a  copy  of  a  comedy  he  had  written. 


BETWEEN   ROME  AND   NAPLES    125 

Nobody  who  cares  to  travel  with  decency  and 
comfort  can  take  the  second-class  cars  on  the  road 
between  Naples  and  Rome,  though  these  are  per 
fectly  good  everywhere  else  in  Italy.  The  Papal 
city  makes  her  influence  felt  for  shabbiness  and  un- 
cleanliness  wherever  she  can,  and  her  management 
seems  to  prevail  on  this  railway.  A  glance  into  the 
second-class  cars  reconciled  us  to  the  first  class,  - 
which  in  themselves  were  bad,  —  and  we  took  our 
places  almost  contentedly. 

The  road  passed  through  the  wildest  country  we 
had  seen  in  Italy ;  and  presently  a  rain  began  to 
fall  and  made  it  drearier  than  ever.  The  land  was 
much  grown  up  with  thickets  of  hazel,  and  was  here 
and  there  sparsely  wooded  with  oaks.  Under  these, 
hogs  were  feeding  upon  the  acorns,  and  the  wet 
swineherds  were  steaming  over  fires  built  at  their 
roots.  In  some  places  the  forest  was  quite  dense  ; 
in  other  places  it  fell  entirely  away,  and  left  the 
rocky  hillsides  bare,  and  solitary  but  for  the  sheep 
that  nibbled  at  the  scanty  grass,  and  the  shepherds 
that  leaned  upon  their  crooks  and  motionlessly 
stared  at  us  as  we  rushed  by.  As  we  drew  near 
Rome,  the  scenery  grew  lonelier  yet  ;  the  land  rose 
into  desolate,  sterile,  stony  heights,  without  a  patch 
of  verdure  on  their  nakedness,  and  at  last  abruptly 
dropped  into  the  gloomy  expanse  of  the  Campagna. 

The  towns  along  the  route  had  little  to  interest 
us  in  their  looks,  though  at  San  Germano  we  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  famous  old  convent  of  Monte-Cas- 
sino,  perched  aloft  on  its  cliff  and  looking  like  a  part 


126  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

of  the  rock  on  which  it  was  built.  Fancy  now  loves 
to  climb  that  steep  acclivity,  and  wander  through 
the  many-volumed  library  of  the  ancient  Benedic 
tine  retreat,  and  on  the  whole  finds  it  less  fatiguing 
and  certainly  less  expensive  than  actual  ascent  and 
acquaintance  with  the  monastery  would  have  been. 
Two  Croatian  priests,  who  shared  our  compartment 
of  the  railway  carriage,  first  drew  our  notice  to  the 
place,  and  were  enthusiastic  about  it  for  many  miles 
after  it  was  out  of  sight.  What  gentle  and  pleasant 
men  they  were,  and  how  hard  it  seemed  that  they 
should  be  priests  and  Croats !  They  told  us  all 
about  the  city  of  Spalato,  where  they  lived,  and  gave 
us  such  a  glowing  account  of  Dalmatian  poets  and 
poetry  that  we  began  to  doubt  at  last  if  the  seat  of 
literature  were  not  somewhere  on  the  east  coast  of 
the  Adriatic  ;  and  I  hope  we  left  them  the  impres 
sion  that  the  literary  centre  of  the  world  was  not  a 
thousand  miles  from  the  horse-car  office  in  Harvard 
Square. 

Here  and  there  repairs  were  going  forward  on 
the  railroad,  and  most  of  the  laborers  were  women. 
They  were  straight  and  handsome  girls,  and  moved 
with  a  stately  grace  under  the  baskets  of  earth  bal 
anced  on  their  heads.  Brave  black  eyes  they  had, 
such  as  love  to  look  and  to  be  looked  at ;  they  were 
not  in  the  least  hurried  by  their  work,  but  desisted 
from  it  to  gaze  at  the  passengers  whenever  the  train 
stopped.  They  all  wore  their  beautiful  peasant 
costume,  —  the  square  white  linen  headdress  fall 
ing  to  the  shoulders,  the  crimson  bodice,  and  the 


V  :f^,f        f-7,    ,        s-      »f         W'jtlJK.       ^        Y 

H 


^  . 

v-'^& 


'S/s-, •?'//*** «t  '          .v'^iK&'Kj''    J*Jit  >' 

fj    ^^S^*?^5-:^1    I 

^•:  ^/'rf^••^:•^.|• 
&"  4  p^ifixet^-  ~e? ' 


-       Jtr~'&l7    * <      ft/.  \^s.-'#i*  V^K' 

r^^Wrl^2lfl: 


BETWEEN  ROME  AND  NAPLES    127 

red  scant  skirt ;  and  how  they  contrived  to  keep 
themselves  so  clean  at  their  work,  and  to  look  so 
spectacular  in  it  all,  remains  one  of  the  many  Italian 
mysteries. 

Another  of  these  mysteries  we  beheld  in  the  little 
beggar-boy  at  Isoletta.  He  stood  at  the  corner  of 
the  station  quite  mute  and  motionless  during  OLIK 
pause,  and  made  no  sign  of  supplication  or  entreaty. 
He  let  his  looks  beg  for  him.  He  was  perfectly 
beautiful  and  exceedingly  picturesque.  Where  his 
body  was  not  quite  naked,  his  jacket  and  trousers 
hung  in  shreds  and  points  ;  his  long  hair  grew 
through  the  top  of  his  hat,  and  fell  over  like  a 
plume.  Nobody  could  resist  him ;  people  ran  out 
of  the  cars,  at  the  risk  of  being  left  behind,  to  put 
coppers  into  the  little  dirty  hand  held  languidly  out 
to  receive  them.  The  boy  thanked  none,  smiled  on 
none,  but  looked  curiously  and  cautiously  at  all, 
with  the  quick  perception  and  the  illogical  conclu 
sions  of  his  class  and  race.  As  we  started  he  did  not 
move,  but  remained  in  his  attitude  of  listless  tran 
quillity.  As  we  glanced  back,  the  mystery  of  him 
seemed  to  be  solved  for  a  moment :  he  would  stand 
there  till  he  grew  up  into  a  graceful,  prayerful,  piti 
less  brigand,  and  then  he  would  rend  from  travel 
the  tribute  now  so  freely  given  him.  But  after  all, 
though  his  future  seemed  clear,  and  he  appeared  the 
type  of  a  strange  and  hardly  reclaimable  people,  he 
was  not  quite  a  solution  of  the  Neapolitan  puzzle. 


XII.     ROMAN  PEARLS 


THE  first  view  of  the  ruins  in  the  Forum  brought 
a  keen  sense  of  disappointment.  I  knew  that 
they  could  only  be  mere  fragments  and  rubbish,  but 
I  was  not  prepared  to  find  them  so.  I  learned  that 
I  had  all  along  secretly  hoped  for  some  dignity  of 
neighborhood,  some  affectionate  solicitude  on  the 
part  of  Nature"  to  redeem  these  works  of  Art  from 
the  destruction  that  had  befallen  them.  But  in 
hollows  below  the  level  of  the  dirty  cowfield,  wan 
dered  over  by  evil-eyed  buffaloes,  and  obscenely 
defiled  by  wild  beasts  of  men,  there  stood  here  an 
arch,  there  a  pillar,  yonder  a  cluster  of  columns 
crowned  by  a  bit  of  frieze  ;  and  yonder  again,  a  frag 
ment  of  temple,  half-gorged  by  the  facade  of  a  hid 
eous  rococo  church  ;  then  a  height  of  vaulted  brick 
work,  and,  leading  on  to  the  Coliseum,  another  arch, 


ROMAN    PEARLS  129 

and  then  incoherent  columns  overthrown  and  mixed 
with  dilapidated  walls  —  mere  phonographic  con 
sonants,  dumbly  representing  the  past,  out  of  which 
all  vocal  glory  had  departed.  The  Coliseum  itself 
does  not  much  better  express  a  certain  phase  of 
Roman  life  than  the  Arena  at  Verona ;  it  is  larger 
only  to  the  foot-rule,  and  it  seemed  not  grander 
otherwise,  while  it  is  vastly  more  ruinous.  Even  the 
Pantheon  failed  to  impress  me  at  first  sight,  though 
I  found  myself  disposed  to  return  to  it  again  and 
again,  and  to  be  more  and  more  affected  by  it. 

Modern  Rome  appeared,  first  and  last,  hideous. 
It  is  the  least  interesting  town  in  Italy,  and  the 
architecture  is  hopelessly  ugly  —  especially  the  ar 
chitecture  of  the  churches.  The  Papal  city  contrives 
at  the  beginning  to  hide  the  Imperial  city  from  your 
thought,  as  it  hides  it  in  such  a  great  degree  from 
your  eye,  and  old  Rome  only  occurs  to  you  in  a  sort 
of  stupid  wonder  over  the  depth  at  which  it  is  buried. 
I  confess  that  I  was  glad  to  get  altogether  away 
from  it  after  a  first  look  at  the  ruins  in  the  Forum, 
and  to  take  refuge  in  the  Conservatorio  delle  Mendi- 
canti,  where  we  were  charged  to  see  the  little  Vir 
ginia  G.  The  Conservatorio,  though  a  charitable  in 
stitution,  is  not  so  entirely  meant  for  mendicants  as 
its  name  would  imply,  but  none  of  the  many  young 
girls  there  were  the  children  of  rich  men.  They 
were  often  enough  of  parentage  actually  hungry 
and  ragged,  but  they  were  often  also  the  daughters 
of  honest  poor  folk,  who  paid  a  certain  sum  toward 
their  maintenance  and  education  in  the  Conserva- 


130  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

torio.  Such  was  the  case  with  little  Virginia,  whose 
father  was  at  Florence,  doubly  impeded  from  seeing 
her  by  the  fact  that  he  had  fought  against  the  Pope 
for  the  Republic  of  1 848,  and  by  the  other  fact  that 
he  had  since  wrought  the  Pope  a  yet  deadlier  injury 
by  turning  Protestant. 

Ringing  a  garrulous  bell  that  continued  to  jingle 
some  time  after  we  were  admitted,  we  found  our 
selves  in  a  sort  of  reception-room,  of  the  temperature 
of  a  cellar,  and  in  the  presence  of  a  portress  who 
was  perceptibly  preserved  from  mould  only  by  the 
great  pot  of  coals  that  stood  in  the  centre  of  the 
place.  Some  young  girls,  rather  pretty  than  not, 
attended  the  ancient  woman,  and  kindly  acted  as 
the  ear-trumpet  through  which  our  wishes  were 
conveyed  to  her  mind.  The  Conservatorio  was  not, 
so  far,  as  conventual  as  we  had  imagined  it ;  but  as 
the  gentleman  of  the  party  was  strongly  guarded 
by  female  friends,  and  asked  at  once  to  see  the  Su 
perior,  he  concluded  that  there  was,  perhaps,  some 
thing  so  unusually  reassuring  to  the  recluses  in  his 
appearance  and  manner  that  they  had  not  thought 
it  necessary  to  behave  very  rigidly.  It  later  occurred  ( 
to  this  gentleman  that  the  promptness  with  which 
the  pretty  mendicants  procured  him  an  interview 
with  the  Superior  had  a  flavor  of  self-interest  in  it, 
and  that  he  who  came  to  the  Conservatorio  in  the 
place  of  a  father  might  have  been  for  a  moment 
ignorantly  viewed  as  a  yet  dearer  and  tenderer  pos 
sibility.  From  whatever  danger  there  was  in  this 
error  the  Superior  soon  appeared  to  rescue  him,  and 


,  -         £ 


,    j$ 


^3sS^lKIj3 

,'^™rfe?  lVJft,.' 

•'{-.? !  i  »*kfc-— *— jivC  ^1 


G?£  ..;  ,  •   Kafir  4  'a?  '» -"•  rr1. 

-  •"•  r-  ;  J  *fi^/ ^\S^T^i* 


io'^7 


ROMAN    PEARLS  131 

we  were  invited  into  a  more  ceremonious  apartment 
on  the  first  floor,  and  the  little  Virginia  was  sent 
for.  The  visit  of  the  strangers  caused  a  tumult 
and  interest  in  the  quiet  old  Conservatorio  of  which 
it  is  hard  to  conceive  now,  and  the  excitement  grew 
tremendous  when  it  appeared  that  the  signori  were 
Americani  and  Protestanti.  We  imparted  a  savor 
of  novelty  and  importance  to  Virginia  herself,  and 
when  she  appeared,  the  Superior  and  her  assistant 
looked  at  her  with  no  small  curiosity  and  awe,  of 
which  the  little  maiden  instantly  became  conscious, 
and  began  to  take  advantage.  Accompanying  us 
over  the  building  and  through  the  grounds,  she  cut 
her  small  friends  wherever  she  met  them,  and  was 
not  more  than  respectful  to  the  assistant. 

It  was  from  an  instinct  of  hospitality  that  we  were 
shown  the  Conservatorio,  and  instructed  in  regard 
to  all  its  purposes.  We  saw  the  neat  dormitories 
with  their  battalions  of  little  white  beds  ;  the  kitchen 
with  its  gigantic  coppers  for  boiling  broth,  and  the 
refectory  with  the  smell  of  the  frugal  dinners  of 
generations  of  mendicants  in  it.  The  assistant  was 
very  proud  of  the  neatness  of  everything,  and  was 
glad  to  talk  of  that,  or,  indeed,  anything  else.  It 
appeared  that  the  girls  were  taught  reading,  writing, 
and  plain  sewing  when  they  were  young,  and  that 
the  Conservatorio  was  chiefly  sustained  by  pious 
contributions  and  bequests.  Any  lingering  notion 
of  the  conventual  character  of  the  place  was  dispelled 
by  the  assistant's  hurrying  to  say,  "  And  when  we 
can  get  the  poor  things  well  married,  we  are  glad 
to  do  so." 


132  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

"  But  how  does  any  one  ever  see  them  ?  " 

"  Eh  !  well,  that  is  easily  managed.  Once  a 
month  we  dress  the  marriageable  girls  in  their  best, 
and  take  them  for  a  walk  in  the  street.  If  an  hon 
est  young  man  falls  in  love  with  one  of  them  going 
by,  he  comes  to  the  Superior,  and  describes  her  as 
well  as  he  can,  and  demands  to  see  her.  She  is 
called,  and  if  both  are  pleased,  the  marriage  is  ar 
ranged.  You  see  it  is  a  very  simple  affair." 

And  there  was,  to  the  assistant's  mind,  nothing 
odd  in  the  whole  business,  insomuch  that  I  felt 
almost  ashamed  of  marveling  at  it. 

Issuing  from  the  back  door  of  the  convent,  we  as 
cended  by  stairs  and  gateways  into  garden  spaces, 
chiefly  planted  with  turnips  and  other  vegetables, 
and  curiously  adorned  with  fragments  of  antique 
statuary,  and  here  and  there  a  fountain  in  a  corner, 
trickling  from  moss-grown  rocks,  and  falling  into  a 
trough  of  travertine,  about  the  feet  of  some  poor 
old  goddess  or  Virtue  who  had  forgotten  what  her 
name  was. 

Once,  the  assistant  said,  speaking  as  if  the  thing 
had  been  within  her  recollection,  though  it  must 
have  been  centuries  before,  the  antiquities  of  the 
Conservatorio  were  much  more  numerous  and  strik 
ing  ;  but  they  were  now  removed  to  the  different 
museums.  Nevertheless  they  had  still  a  beautiful 
prospect  left,  which  we  were  welcome  to  enjoy  if  we 
would  follow  her  ;  and  presently,  to  our  surprise, 
we  stepped  from  the  garden  upon  the  roof  of  the 
Temple  of  Peace.  The  assistant  had  not  boasted 


ROMAN   PEARLS  133 

without  reason  :  away  before  us  stretched  the  Cam- 
pagna,  a  level  waste,  and  empty,  but  for  the  arched 
lengths  of  the  aqueducts  that  seemed  to  stalk 
down  from  the  ages  across  the  melancholy  expanse 
like  files  of  giants,  with  now  and  then  a  ruinous  gap 
in  the  line,  as  if  one  had  fallen  out  weary  by  the 
way.  The  city  all  around  us  glittered  asleep  in  the 
dim  December  sunshine,  and  far  below  us  —  on 
the  length  of  the  Forum  over  which  the  Appian 
Way  stretched  from  the  Capitoline  Hill  under  the 
Arch  of  Septimius  Severus  and  the  Arch  of  Titus 
to  the  Arch  of  Constantine,  leaving  the  Coliseum 
on  the  left,  and  losing  itself  in  the  foliage  of  the 
suburbs  —  the  Past  seemed  struggling  to  emerge 
from  the  ruins,  and  to  Shape  and  animate  itself 
anew.  The  effort  was  more  successful  than  that 
which  we  had  helped  the  Past  to  make  when 
standing  on  the  level  of  the  Forum  ;  but  Antiquity 
must  have  been  painfully  conscious  of  the  incongru 
ity  of  the  red-legged  Zouaves  wandering  over  the 
grass,  and  of  the  bewildered  tourists  trying  to  make 
her  out  with  their  Hurrays. 

In  a  day  or  two  after  this  we  returned  again  to 
our  Conservatorio,  where  we  found  that  the  excite 
ment  created  by  our  first  visit  had  been  kept  fully 
alive  by  the  events  attending  the  photographing  of 
Virginia  for  her  father.  Not  only  Virginia  was  there 
to  receive  us,  but  her  grandmother  also  —  an  old, 
old  woman,  dumb  through  some  infirmity  of  age, 
who  could  only  weep  and  smile  in  token  of  her  con 
tent.  I  think  she  had  but  a  dim  idea,  after  all,  of 


134  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

what  went  on  beyond  the  visible  fact  of  Virginia's 
photograph,  and  that  she  did  not  quite  understand 
how  we  could  cause  it  to  be  taken  for  her  son.  She 
was  deeply  compassionated  by  the  Superior,  who 
rendered  her  pity  with  a  great  deal  of  gesticulation, 
casting  up  her  eyes,  shrugging  her  shoulders,  and 
sighing  grievously.  But  the  assistant's  cheerfulness 
could  not  be  abated  even  by  the  spectacle  of  extreme 
age ;  and  she  made  the  most  of  the  whole  occasion, 
recounting  with  great  minuteness  all  the  incidents 
of  the  visit  to  the  photographer's,  and  running  to 
get  the  dress  Virginia  sat  in,  that  we  might  see  how 
exactly  it  was  given  in  the  picture.  Then  she  gave 
us  much  discourse  concerning  the  Conservatorio 
and  its  usages,  and  seemed  not  to  wish  us  to  think 
that  life  there  was  altogether  eventless.  "  Here  we 
have  a  little  amusement  also,"  she  said.  "  The  girls 
have  their  relatives  to  visit  them  sometimes,  and 
then  in  the  evening  they  dance.  Oh,  they  enjoy 
themselves  !  I  am  half  old  (mezzo  vcccJiid).  I  am 
done  with  these  things.  But  for  youth,  always  kept 
down,  something  lively  is  wanted." 

When  we  took  leave  of  these  simple  folks,  we 
took  leave  of  almost  the  only  natural  and  unprepared 
aspect  of  Italian  life  which  we  were  to  see  in  Rome ; 
but  we  did  not  know  this  at  the  time. 

ii 

INDEED,  it  seems  to  me  that  all  moisture  of  ro 
mance  and  adventure  has  been  well-nigh  sucked  out 
of  travel  in  Italy,  and  that  compared  with  the  old 


/ . 


v       *  si  *  r  '   /rjHr*JPr 

*W        UK          '^*    S' 


ROMAN   PEARLS  135 

time,  when  the  happy  wayfarer  journeyed  by  vettura 
through  the  innumerable  little  states  of  the  Penin 
sula,  —  halted  every  other  mile  to  show  his  pass 
port,  and  robbed  by  customs  officers  in  every  color 
of  shabby  uniform  and  every  variety  of  cocked  hat, 
—  the  present  railroad  period  is  one  of  but  stale 
and  insipid  flavor.  Much  of  local  life  and  color  re 
mains,  of  course ;  but  the  hurried  traveler  sees  little 
of  it,  and,  passed  from  one  grand  hotel  to  another, 
without  material  change  in  the  cooking  or  the 
methods  of  extortion,  he  might  nearly  as  well  re 
main  at  Paris.  The  Italians,  who  live  to  so  great 
extent  by  the  travel  through  their  country  learn 
our  abominable  languages  and  minister  to  our  de 
testable  comfort  and  propriety,  till  we  have  slight 
chance  to  know  them  as  we  once  could,  —  musical, 
picturesque,  and  full  of  sweet,  natural  knaveries  and 
graceful  falsehood.  Rome  really  belongs  to  the 
Anglo-Saxon  nations,  and  the  Pope  and  the  Past 
seem  to  be  carried  on  entirely  for  our  diversion. 
Everything  is  systematized  as  thoroughly  as  in  a 
museum  where  the  objects  are  all  ticketed ;  and 
our  prejudices  are  consulted  even  down  to  almsgiv 
ing.  Honest  Beppo  is  gone  from  the  steps  in  the 
Piazza  di  Spagna,  and  now  the  beggars  are  labeled 
like  policemen,  with  an  immense  plate  bearing  the 
image  of  St.  Peter,  so  that  you  may  know  you  give 
t*  a  worthy  person  when  you  bestow  charity  on 
one  of  them,  and  not,  alas  !  to  some  abandoned  im- 
-  poster,  as  in  former  days.  One  of  these  highly 
recommended  mendicants  gave  the  last  finish  to 


136  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

the  system,  and  begged  of  us  in  English  !  No 
custodian  will  answer  you,  if  he  can  help  it,  in  the 
Italian  which  he  speaks  so  exquisitely,  preferring 
to  speak  bad  French  instead,  and  in  all  the  shops 
on  the  Corso  the  English  tongue  is  de  rigucur. 

After  our  dear  friends  at  the  Conservatorio,  I 
think  we  found  one  of  the  most  simple  and  interest 
ing  of  Romans  in  the  monk  who  showed  us  the 
Catacombs  of  St.  Sebastian.  These  catacombs, 
he  assured  us,  were  not  restored  like  those  of  St. 
Calixtus,  but  were  just  as  the  martyrs  left  them  ; 
and,  as  I  do  not  remember  to  have  read  anywhere 
that  they  are  formed  merely  of  long,  low,  narrow, 
wandering  underground  passages,  lined  on  either 
side  with  tombs  in  tiers  like  berths  on  a  steamer, 
and  expanding  here  and  there  into  small  square 
chambers,  bearing  the  traces  of  ancient  frescoes, 
and  evidently  used  as  chapels,  —  I  venture  to  offer 
the  information  here.  The  reader  is  to  keep  in  his 
mind  a  darkness  broken  by  the  light  of  wax  tapers, 
a  close  smell,  and  crookedness  and  narrowness,  or 
he  cannot  realize  the  catacombs  as  they  are  in  fact. 
Our  monkish  guide,  before  entering  the  passage 
leading  from  the  floor  of  the  church  to  the  tombs, 
in  which  there  was  still  some  "fine  small  dust  "  of 
the  martyrs,  warned  us  that  to  touch  it  was  to  incur 
the  penalty  of  excommunication,  and  then  gently 
craved  pardon  for  having  mentioned  the  fact.  But, 
indeed,  it  was  only  to  persons  who  showed  a  cer 
tain  degree  of  reverence  that  these  places  were 
now  exhibited  ;  for  some  Protestants  who  had  been 


ROMAN   PEARLS  137 

permitted  there  had  stolen  handfuls  of  the  precious 
ashes,  merely  to  throw  away.  I  assured  him  that 
I  thought  them  beasts  to  do  it  ;  and  I  was  after 
wards  puzzled  to  know  what  should  attract  their 
wantonness  in  the  remnants  of  mortality,  hardly  to 
be  distinguished  from  the  common  earth  out  of 
which  the  catacombs  were  dug. 

in 

RETURNING  to  the  church  above  we  found,  kneel 
ing  before  one  of  the  altars,  two  pilgrims,  —  a  man 
and  a  woman.  The  latter  was  habited  in  a  nun- 
like  dress  of  black,  and  the  former  in  a  long  pil 
grim's  coat  of  coarse  blue  stuff.  He  bore  a  pilgrim's 
staff  in  his  hand,  and  showed  under  his  close  hood 
a  fine,  handsome,  reverent  face,  full  of  a  sort  of 
tender  awe,  touched  with  the  pathos  of  penitence. 
In  attendance  upon  the  two  was  a  dapper  little 
silk-hatted  man,  with  rogue  so  plainly  written  in  his 
devotional  countenance  that  I  was  not  surprised  to 
be  told  that  he  was  a  species  of  spiritual  valet  de 
place,  whose  occupation  it  was  to  attend  pilgrims 
on  their  tour  to  the  Seven  Churches  at  which  these 
devotees  pray  in  Rome,  and  there  to  direct  their 
orisons  and  join  in  them. 

It  was  not  to  the  pilgrims,  but  to  the  heretics 
that  the  monk  now  uncovered  the  precious  marble 
slab  on  which  Christ  stood  when  he  met  Peter  fly 
ing  from  Rome  and  turned  him  back.  You  are 
shown  the  prints  of  the  divine  feet,  which  the  con 
scious  stone  received  and  keeps  forever ;  and  near 


138  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

at  hand  is  one  of  the  arrows  with  which  St.  Sebas 
tian  was  shot.  We  looked  at  these  things  critically, 
having  to  pay  for  the  spectacle  ;  but  the  pilgrims 
and  their  guide  were  all  faith  and  wonder. 

I  remember  seeing  nothing  else  so  finely  super 
stitious  at  Rome.  In  a  chapel  near  the  Church  of 
St.  John  Lateran  are,  as  is  well  known,  the  marble 
steps  which  once  belonged  to  Pilate's  house,  and 
which  the  Saviour  is  said  to  have  ascended  when 
he  went  to  trial  before  Pilate.  The  steps  are  pro 
tected  against  the  wear  and  tear  of  devotion  by  a 
stout  casing  of  wood,  and  they  are  constantly  cov 
ered  with  penitents,  who  ascend  and  descend  them 
upon  their  knees.  Most  of  the  pious  people  whom 
I  saw  in  this  act  were  children,  and  the  boys  en 
joyed  it  with  a  good  deal  of  giggling,  as  a  very  amus 
ing  feat.  Some  old  and  haggard  women  gave  the 
scene  all  the  dignity  which  it  possessed  ;  but  certain 
well-dressed  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  undeniably 
awkward  and  absurd,  and  I  was  led  to  doubt  if 
there  were  not  an  incompatibility  between  the  aban 
don  of  simple  faith  and  the  care  of  good  clothes. 

IV 

IN  all  other  parts  of  Italy  one  hears  constant 
talk  among  travelers  of  the  malaria  at  Rome.  But 
in  Rome  itself  the  malaria  is  laughed  at  by  the  for 
eign  residents,  —  who,  nevertheless,  go  out  of  the 
city  in  midsummer.  The  Romans,  to  the  number 
of  a  hundred  thousand  or  so,  remain  there  the  whole 
year  round,  and  I  am  bound  to  say  I  never  saw  a 


.    ,  -          /~-  r  w  l 

i 


THE  CORSO,  ROME 


ROMAN    PEARLS  139 

healthier,  robuster-looking  population.  The  cheeks 
of  the  French  soldiers,  too,  whom  we  met  at  every 
turn,  were  red  as  their  trousers,  and  they  seemed  to 
flourish  on  the  imputed  unwholesomeness  of  the  at 
mosphere.  All  at  Rome  are  united  in  declaring  that 
the  fever  exists  at  Naples,  and  that  sometimes  those 
who  have  taken  it  there  come  and  die  in  Rome,  in 
order  to  give  the  city  a  bad  name ;  and  I  think  this 
very  likely. 

Rome  is  certainly  dirty,  however,  though  there  is 
a  fountain  in  every  square,  and  you  are  never  out 
of  the  sound  of  falling  water.  The  Corso  and  some 
of  the  principal  streets  do  not  so  much  impress  you 
with  their  filth  as  with  their  dullness  ;  but  that  part 
of  the  city  where  some  of  the  most  memorable  relics 
of  antiquity  are  to  be  found  is  unimaginably  vile. 
The  least  said  of  the  state  of  the  archways  of  the 
Coliseum  the  soonest  mended ;  and  I  have  already 
spoken  of  the  Forum.  The  streets  near  the  Theatre 
of  Pompey  are  almost  impassable,  and  the  so-called 
House  of  Rienzi  is  a  stable,  fortified  against  ap 
proach  by  a  fosse  of  excrement.  A  noisome  smell 
seems  to  be  esteemed  the  most  appropriate  offering 
to  the  memory  of  ancient  Rome,  and  I  am  not  sure 
that  the  moderns  are  mistaken  in  this.  In  the  ras 
cal  streets  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  most  august 
ruins,  the  people  turn  round  to  stare  at  the  stranger 
as  he  passes  them  ;  they  are  all  dirty,  and  his  de 
cency  must  be  no  less  a  surprise  to  them  than  the 
neatness  of  the  French  soldiers  amid  all  the  filth  is 
a  puzzle  to  him.  We  wandered  about  a  long  time 


140  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

in  such  places  one  day,  looking  for  the  Tarpeian 
Rock,  less  for  Tarpeia's  sake  than  for  the  sake  of 
^  Hawthorne's  Miriam  and  Donatello  and  the  Model. 
There  are  two  Tarpeian  rocks,  between  which  the 
stranger  takes  his  choice ;  and  we  must  have  chosen 
the  wrong  one,  for  it  seemed  but  a  shallow  gulf 
compared  to  that  in  our  fancy.  We  were  somewhat 
disappointed ;  but  then,  Niagara  disappoints  one ; 
and  as  for  Mont  Blanc.  . 


IT  is  worth  while  for  every  one  who  goes  to  Rome 
to  visit  the  Church  of  St.  Peter's  ;  but  it  is  scarcely 
worth  while  for  me  to  describe  it,  or  for  every  one 
to  go  up  into  the  bronze  globe  on  the  top  of  the 
cupola.  In  fact,  this  is  a  great  labor,  and  there  is 
nothing  to.be  seen  from  the  crevices  in  the  ball 
which  cannot  be  far  more  comfortably  seen  from 
the  roof  of  the  church  below. 

The  companions  of  our  ascent  to  the  latter  point 
were  an  English  lady  and  gentleman,  brother  and 
sister,  and  both  Catholics,  as  they  at  once  told  us. 
The  lady  and  myself  spoke  for  some  time  in  the 
Tuscan  tongue  before  we  discovered  that  neither  of 
us  was  Italian,  after  which  we  paid  each  other  some 
handsome  compliments  upon  our  fluency  and  per 
fection  of  accent.  The  gentleman  was  a  pleasant 
purple  porpoise  from  the  waters  of  Chili,  whither 
he  had  wandered  from  the  English  coasts  in  early 
youth.  He  had  two  leading  ideas  :  one  concerned 
the  Pope,  to  whom  he  had  just  been  presented,  and 


'  !'- 
1  '  ^\J  I 

HW£    sra  i 

ffiliJflJ^»Ml   ' 

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^|wf:^^i 

i»j<'?^  }Vt-v3*  ^V      ^          "Hilsf     '    -'",''*¥'    '•'  '•<   '"'"'-    '•'     • 

W^W^w^k^'^'^^  &it$&&fe3$  *  •  &n"? 
^  >  * ,  ^ffSp          f  ^ 

i^^Hr^i,  I?fc',*4>f>  ;.;%  '  J|*ri 
llKt^SP  "I  ,i  3  *.^t^:: 


THE  TARPE1AN   ROCK,    ROME 


ROMAN   PEARLS  141 

whom  he  viewed  as  the  best  and  blandest  of  beings  ; 
the  other  related  to  his  boy,  then  in  England,  whom 
he  called  Jack  Spratt,  and  considered  the  grandest 
and  greatest  of  boys.  With  the  view  from  the  roof 
of  the  church  this  gentleman  did  not  much  trouble 
himself.  He  believed  Jack  Spratt  could  ride  up  to 
the  roof  where  we  stood  on  his  donkey.  As  to  the 
great  bronze  globe  which  we  were  hurrying  to  enter, 
he  seemed  to  regard  it  merely  as  a  rival  in  rotundity, 
and  made  not  the  slightest  motion  to  follow  us. 

I  should  be  loath  to  vex  the  reader  with  any  de 
scription  of  the  scene  before  us  and  beneath  us,  even 
if  I  could  faithfully  portray  it.  But  I  recollect,  with 
a  pleasure  not  to  be  left  unrecorded,  the  sweetness 
of  the  great  fountain  playing  in  the  square  before 
the  church,  and  the  harmony  in  which  the  city  grew 
in  every  direction  from  it,  like  an  emanation  from 
its  music,  till  the  last  house  sank  away  into  the 
pathetic  solitude  of  the  Campagna,  with  nothing 
beyond  but  the  snow-capped  mountains  lighting 
up  the  remotest  distance.  At  the  same  moment  I 
experienced  a  rapture  in  reflecting  that  I  had  un 
derpaid  three  hackmen  during  my  stay  in  Rome, 
and  thus  contributed  to  avenge  my  race  for  ages  of 
oppression. 

The  vastness  of  St.  Peter's  itself  is  best  felt  in 
looking  down  upon  the  interior  from  the  gallery  that 
surrounds  the  inside  of  the  dome,  and  in  comparing 
one's  own  littleness  with  the  greatness  of  all  the 
neighboring  mosaics.  But  as  to  the  beauty  of  the 
temple,  I  could  not  find  it  without  or  within. 


142  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

VI 

IN  Rome  one's  fellow-tourists  are  a  constant 
source  of  gratification  and  surprise.  I  thought  that 
American  travelers  were  by  no  means  the  most  ab 
surd  among  those  we  saw,  nor  even  the  loudest  in 
their  approval  of  the  Eternal  City.  A  certain  order 
of  German  greenness  affords,  perhaps,  the  pleasant- 
est  pasturage  for  the  ruminating  mind.  For  example, 
at  the  Villa  Ludovisi  there  was,  beside  numerous 
Englishry  in  detached  bodies,  a  troop  of  Germans, 
chiefly  young  men,  frugally  pursuing  the  Sehens- 
wiirdigkeiten  in  the  social  manner  of  their  nation. 
They  took  their  enjoyment  very  noisily,  and  wran 
gled  together  with  furious  amiability  as  they  looked 
at  Guercino's  "Aurora."  Then  two  of  them  parted 
from  the  rest,  and  went  to  a  little  summer-house  in 
the  gardens,  while  the  others  followed  us  to  the  top 
of  the  Casino.  There  they  caught  sight  of  their 
friends  in  the  arbor,  and  the  spectacle  appeared  to 
overwhelm  them.  They  bowed,  they  took  off  their 
hats,  they  waved  their  handkerchiefs.  It  was  not 
enough  :  one  young  fellow  mounted  on  the  balus 
trade  of  the  roof  at  his  neck's  risk,  lifted  his  hat  on 
his  cane,  and  flourished  it  in  greeting  to  the  heart's- 
friends  in  the  arbor,  from  whom  he  had  parted  two 
minutes  before. 

In  strange  contrast  to  the  producer  of  this  enthu 
siasm,  so  pumped  and  so  unmistakably  mixed  with 
beer,  a  fat  and  pallid  Englishwoman  sat  in  a  chair 
upon  the  roof  and  coldly,  coldly  sketched  the  lovely 


ROMAN   PEARLS  143 

landscape.  And  she  and  the  blonde  young  English 
girl  beside  her  pronounced  a  little  dialogue  together, 
which  I  give,  because  I  saw  that  they  meant  it  for 
the  public  : 

The  Young  Girl.  —  I  wonder,  you  knoa,  you  don't 
draw-ow  St.  Petuh's  ! 

The  Artist.  —  O  ah,  you  knoa,  I  can  draw-ow  St. 
Petuh's  from  so  mennee  powints. 

I  am  afraid  that  the  worst  form  of  American 
greenness  appears  abroad  in  a  desire  to  be  perfectly 
up  in  critical  appreciation  of  the  arts,  and  to  ap 
proach  the  great  works  in  the  spirit  of  the  connois 
seur.  The  ambition  is  not  altogether  a  bad  one. 
A  fellow-countryman  told  me  that  he  had  not  yet 
seen  Raphael's  "Transfiguration,"  because  he 
wished  to  prepare  his  mind  for  understanding  the 
original  by  first  looking  at  all  the  copies  he  could 
find. 

VII 

THE  Basilica  San  Paolo  fuori  le  Mura  surpasses 
everything  in  splendor  of  marble  and  costly  stone 
—  porphyry,  malachite,  alabaster  —  and  luxury  of 
gilding  that  is  to  be  seen  at  Rome.  But  I  chiefly 
remember  it  because  on  the  road  that  leads  to  it, 
through  scenes  as  quiet  and  peaceful  as  if  history 
had  never  known  them,  lies  the  Protestant  grave 
yard  in  which  Keats  is  buried.  Quite  by  chance 
the  driver  mentioned  it,  pointing  in  the  direction 
of  the  cemetery  with  his  whip.  We  eagerly  dis 
mounted  and  repaired  to  the  gate,  where  we  were 
met  by  the  son  of  the  sexton,  who  spoke  English 


144  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

through  the  beauteous  line  of  a  curved  Hebrew  nose. 
Perhaps  a  Christian  could  not  be  found  in  Rome  to 
take  charge  of  these  heretic  graves,  though  Chris 
tians  can  be  got  to  do  almost  anything  there  for 
money.  However,  I  do  not  think  a  Catholic  would 
have  kept  the  place  in  better  order,  or  more  intelli 
gently  received  our  reverent  curiosity.  It  was  the 
new  burial-ground  which  we  had  entered,  and  which 
is  a  little  to  the  right  of  the  elder  cemetery.  It  was 
very  beautiful  and  tasteful  in  every  way  ;  the  names 
upon  the  stones  were  chiefly  English  and  Scotch, 
with  here  and  there  an  American's.  But  affection 
drew  us  only  to  the  prostrate  tablet  inscribed  with 
the  words,  "  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley,  Cor  Cordium," 
and  then  we  were  ready  to  go  to  the  grave  of  him 
for  whom  we  all  feel  so  deep  a  tenderness.  The 
grave  of  John  Keats  is  one  of  few  in  the  old  burying- 
ground,  and  lies  almost  in  the  shadow  of  the  pyra 
mid  of  Caius  Cestius  ;  and  I  could  not  help  thinking 
of  the  wonder  the  Roman  would  have  felt  could 
he  have  known  into  what  unnamable  richness  and 
beauty  his  Greek  faith  had  ripened  in  the  heart  of 
the  poor  poet,  where  it  was  mixed  with  so  much 
pain.  Doubtless,  in  his  time,  a  prominent  citizen 
like  Caius  Cestius  was  a  leading  member  of  the 
temple  in  his  neighborhood,  and  regularly  attended 
sacrifice:  it  would  have  been  but  decent;  and  yet 
I  fancied  that  a  man  immersed  like  him  in  affairs 
might  have  learned  with  surprise  the  inner  and 
more  fragrant  meaning  of  the  symbols  with  the 
outside  of  which  his  life  was  satisfied  ;  and  I  was 


THE  CAPITOL,   ROME 


ROMAN   PEARLS  145 

glad  to  reflect  that  in  our  day  a  like  thing  is  im 
possible. 

The  grave  of  our  beloved  poet  is  sunken  to  the 
level  of  the  common  earth,  and  is  only  marked  by  the 
quaintly  lettered,  simple  stone  bearing  the  famous 
epitaph.  While  at  Rome  I  heard  talk  of  another 
and  grander  monument  which  some  members  of  the 
Keats  family  were  to  place  over  the  dust  of  their 
great  kinsman.  But,  for  one,  I  hope  this  may  never 
be  done,  even  though  the  original  stone  should  also 
be  left  there,  as  was  intended.  Let  the  world  still 
keep  unchanged  this  shrine,  to  which  it  can  repair 
with  at  once  pity  and  tenderness  and  respect. 

A  rose-tree  and  some  sweet-smelling  bushes  grew 
upon  the  grave,  and  the  roses  were  in  bloom.  We 
asked  leave  to  take  one  of  them  ;  but  at  last  could 
only  bring  ourselves  to  gather  some  of  the  fallen 
petals.  Our  Hebrew  guide  was  willing  enough,  and 
unconsciously  set  us  a  little  example  of  wantonness  ; 
for  while  he  listened  to  our  explanation  of  the  mys 
tery  which  had  puzzled  him  ever  since  he  had. learned 
English,  namely,  why  the  stone  should  say  "  writ  on 
water,"  and  not  written,  he  kept  plucking  mechan 
ically  at  one  of  the  fragrant  shrubs,  pinching  away 
the  leaves,  and  rending  the  tender  twig,  till,  re 
membering  the  once-sensitive  dust  from  which  it 
grew,  one  waited  for  the  tortured  tree  to  cry  out  to 
him  with  a  voice  of  words  and  blood,  "  Perche  mi 
schianti  ? " 


146      .     ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

VIII 

ONE  Sunday  afternoon  we  went  with  some  artis 
tic  friends  to  visit  the  studio  of  the  great  German 
painter,  Overbeck  ;  and  since  I  first  read  Uhland  I 
have  known  no  pleasure  so  illogical  as  I  felt  in  look 
ing  at  this  painter's  drawings.  In  the  sensuous 
heart  of  objective  Italy  he  treats  the  themes  of 
mediaeval  Catholicism  with  the  most  subjective  feel 
ing,  and  I  thought  I  perceived  in  his  work  the 
enthusiasm  which  led  many  Protestant  German 
painters  and  poets  of  the  romantic  school  back  into 
the  twilight  of  the  Romish  faith,  in  the  hope  that 
they  might  thus  realize  to  themselves  something  of 
the  earnestness  which  animated  the  elder  Christian 
artists. 

Walking  from  the  painter's  house,  two  of  us 
parted  with  the  rest  on  the  steps  of  the  Church 
of  Santa  Maria  Maggiore,  and  pursued  our  stroll 
through  the  gate  of  San  Lorenzo  out  upon  the 
Campagna,  which  tempts  and  tempts  the  sojourner 
at  Rome,  until  at  last  he  must  go  and  see — if  it 
will  give  him  the  fever.  And,  alas  !  there  I  caught 
the  Roman  fever — the  longing  that  burns  one  who 
has  once  been  in  Rome  to  go  again  —  that  will  not 
be  cured  by  all  the  cool  contemptuous  things  he 
may  think  or  say  of  the  Eternal  City ;  that  fills  him 
with  fond  memories  of  its  fascination,  and  makes  it 
forever  desired. 

We  walked  far  down  the  dusty  road  beyond  the 
city  walls,  and  then  struck  out  from  the  highway 


ROMAN    PEARLS  147 

across  the  wild  meadows  of  the  Campagna.  They 
were  weedy  and  desolate,  seamed  by  shaggy  grass- 
grown  ditches,  and  deeply  pitted  with  holes  made  in 
search  for  catacombs.  There  was  here  and  there  a 
farmhouse  amid  the  wide  lonesomeness,  but  oftener 
a  round,  hollow,  roofless  tomb,  from  which  the  dust 
and  memory  of  the  dead  had  long  been  blown  away, 
and  through  the  top  of  which  —  fringed  and  over 
hung  with  grasses,  and  opening  like  a  great  eye  — 
the  evening  sky  looked  mysteriously  sad.  One  of 
the  fields  was  full  of  grim,  wide-horned  cattle,  and 
in  another  there  were  four  or  five  buffaloes  lying 
down  and  chewing  their  cuds,  —  holding  their  heads 
horizontally  in  the  air,  and  with  an  air  of  gloomy 
wickedness  which  nothing  could  exceed  in  their 
cruel  black  eyes,  glancing  about  in  visible  pursuit 
of  some  object  to  toss  and  gore.  There  were  also 
many  canebrakes,  in  which  the  wind  made  a  mourn 
ful  rustling  after  the  sun  had  set  in  golden  glitter 
on  the  roofs  of  the  Roman  churches  and  the  trans 
parent  night  had  fallen  upon  the  scene. 

In  all  our  ramble  we  met  not  a  soul,  and  I 
scarcely  know  what  it  is  makes  this  walk  upon  the 
Campagna  one  of  my  vividest  recollections  of  Rome, 
unless  it  be  the  opportunity  it  gave  me  to  weary 
myself  upon  that  many-memoried  ground  as  freely 
as  if  it  had  been  a  woods-pasture  in  Ohio.  Nature, 
where  history  was  so  august,  was  perfectly  simple 
and  motherly,  and  did  so  much  to  make  me  at 
home,  that,  as  the  night  thickened  and  we  plunged 
here  and  there  into  ditches  and  climbed  fences,  and 


148  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

struggled,  heavy-footed,  back  through  the  suburbs 
to  the  city  gate,  I  felt  as  if  half  my  boyhood  had 
been  passed  upon  the  Campagna. 

IX 

PASQUINO,  like  most  other  great  people,  is  not 
very  interesting  upon  close  approach.  There  is  no 
trace  now  in  his  aspect  to  show  that  he  has  ever 
been  satirical ;  but  the  humanity  that  the  sculptor 
gave  him  is  imperishable,  though  he  has  lost  all 
character  as  a  public  censor.  The  torso  is  at  first 
glance  merely  a  shapeless  mass  of  stone,  but  the 
life  can  never  die  out  of  that  which  has  been  shaped 
by  art  to  the  likeness  of  a  man,  and  a  second  look 
restores  the  lump  to  full  possession  of  form  and 
expression.  For  this  reason  I  lament  that  statues 
should  ever  be  restored  except  by  sympathy  and 
imagination. 


WHEN  the  Tiber,  according  to  its  frequent  habit, 
rises  and  inundates  the  city,  the  Pantheon  is  one  of 
the  first  places  to  be  flooded  —  the  sacristan  told 
us.  The  water  climbs  above  the  altar-tops,  sapping, 
in  its  recession,  the  cement  of  the  fine  marbles 
which  incrust  the  columns,  so  that  about  their  bases 
the  pieces  have  to  be  continually  renewed.  No 
thing  vexes  you  so  much  in  the  Pantheon  as  your 
consciousness  of  these  and  other  repairs.  Bad  as 
ruin  is,  I  think  I  would  rather  have  the  old  temple 
ruinous  in  every  part  than  restored  as  you  find  it 


THE  PIAZZA  COLONNA,  ROME 


ROMAN   PEARLS  149 

The  sacristan  felt  the  wrongs  of  the  place  keenly, 
and  said,  referring  to  the  removal  of  the  bronze 
roof,  which  took  place  some  centuries  ago,  "They 
have  robbed  us  of  everything "  (Ci  hanno  levato 
tutto} ;  as  if  he  and  the  Pantheon  were  of  one 
blood,  and  he  had  suffered  personal  hurt  in  its 
spoliation. 

What  a  sense  of  the  wildness  everywhere  lurking 
about  Rome  we  had  given  us  by  that  group  of  pea 
sants  who  had  built  a  fire  of  brushwood  almost 
within  the  portico  of  the  Pantheon,  and  were  cook 
ing  their  supper  at  it,  the  light  of  the  flames  luridly 
painting  their  swarthy  faces  ! 

XI 

POOR  little  Numero  Cinque  Via  del  Gambero  has 
seldom,  I  imagine,  known  so  violent  a  sensation  as 
that  it  experienced  when,  on  the  day  of  the  Immac 
ulate  Conception,  the  Armenian  Archbishop  rolled 
up  to  the  door  in  his  red  coach.  The  master  of  the 
house  had  always  seemed  to  like  us ;  now  he  ap 
peared  with  profound  respect  suffusing,  as  it  were, 
his  whole  being,  and  announced,  "  Signore,  it  is 
Monsignore  come  to  take  you  to  the  Sistine  Chapel 
in  his  carriage,"  and  drew  himself  up  in  a  line,  as 
much  like  a  series  of  serving-men  as  possible,  to  let 
us  pass  out.  There  was  a  private  carriage  for  the 
ladies  near  that  of  Monsignore,  for  he  had  already 
advertised  us  that  the  sex  were  not  permitted  to 
ride  in  the  red  coach.  As  they  appeared,  however, 
he  renewed  his  expressions  of  desolation  at  being 


ISO  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

deprived  of  their  company,  and  assured  them  of  his 
good-will  with  a  multiplicity  of  smiles  and  nods,  in 
termixed  with  shrugs  of  recurrence  to  his  poignant 
regret.  But !  In  fine,  it  was  forbidden  ! 

Monsignore  was  in  full  costume,  with  his  best 
ecclesiastical  clothes  on,  and  with  his  great  gold 
chain  about  his  neck.  The  dress  was  richer  than 
that  of  the  western  archbishops  ;  and  the  long  white 
beard  of  Monsignore  made  him  look  much  more 
like  a  Scriptural  monsignore  than  these.  He  lacked, 
perhaps,  the  fine  spiritual  grace  of  his  brother,  the 
Archbishop  of  Venice,  to  whose  letter  of  introduc 
tion  we  owed  his  acquaintance  and  untiring  civili 
ties  ;  but  if  a  man  cannot  be  plump  and  spiritual, 
he  can  be  plump  and  pleasant,  as  Monsignore  was 
to  the  last  degree.  He  enlivened  our  ride  with  dis 
course  about  the  Armenians  at  Venice,  equally  be 
loved  of  us ;  and,  arrived  at  the  Sistine  Chapel,  he 
marshaled  the  ladies  before  him,  and  won  them  early 
entrance  through  the  crowd  of  English  and  Ameri 
cans  crushing  one  another  at  the  door.  Then  he 
laid  hold  upon  the  captain  of  the  Swiss  Guard,  who 
was  swift  to  provide  them  with  the  best  places ; 
and  in  no  wise  did  he  seem  one  of  the  uninfluential 
and  insignificant  priests  that  About  describes  the 
archbishops  at  Rome  to  be.  According  to  this 
lively  author,  a  Swiss  guard  was  striking  back  the 
crowd  on  some  occasion  with  the  butt  of  his  hal 
berd,  and  smote  a  cardinal  on  the  breast.  He  in 
stantly  dropped  upon  his  knees  with,  "  Pardon,  Emi- 
nenza!  I  thought  it  was  a  monsignore!"  Even 


ROMAN   PEARLS  151 

the  chief  of  these  handsome  fellows  had  nothing 
but  respect  and  obedience  for  our  Archbishop. 

The  gentlemen  present  were  separated  from  the 
ladies,  and  in  a  very  narrow  space  outside  of  the 
chapel  men  of  every  nation  were  penned  up  to 
gether.  All  talked  —  several  priests  as  loudly  as 
the  rest.  But  the  rudest  among  them  were  certain 
Germans,  who  not  only  talked  but  stood  upon  a  seat 
to  see  better,  and  were  ordered  down  by  one  of  the 
Swiss  with  a  fierce  "  Giu,  signori,  giu  !  "  Other 
wise  the  guard  kept  good  order  in  the  chapel,  and 
were  no  doubt  as  useful  and  genuine  as  anything 
about  the  poor  old  Pope.  What  gorgeous  fellows 
they  were,  and,  as  soldiers,  how  absurd  !  The  wea 
pons  they  bore  were  as  obsolete  as  the  Inquisition. 
It  was  amusing  to  pass  one  of  these  play-soldiers  on 
guard  at  the  door  of  the  Vatican  —  tall,  straight, 
beautiful,  superb,  with  his  halberd  on  his  shoulder 
—  and  then  come  to  a  real  warrior  outside,  a  little, 
ugly,  red-legged  French  sentinel,  with  his  Minie  on 
his  arm. 

Except  for  the  singing  of  the  Pope's  choir,  — 
which  was  angelically  sweet,  and  heavenly  far  above 
all  praise,  —  the  religious  ceremonies  affected  me  as 
tedious  and  empty.  Each  of  the  cardinals,  as  he 
entered  the  chapel,  blew  a  sonorous  nose ;  and  was 
received  standing  by  his  brother  prelates  —  a  gro 
tesque  company  of  old-womanish  old  men  in  gaudy 
gowns.  From  where  I  stood  I  saw  the  Pope's  face 
only  in  profile  :  it  was  gentle  and  benign  enough,  but 
not  great  in  expression,  and  the  smile  on  it  almost 


152  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

degenerated  into  a  simper.  His  Holiness  had  a 
cold  ;  and  his  recitative,  though  full,  was  not  smooth. 
He  was  all  prete  when,  in  the  midst  of  the  service, 
he  hawked,  held  his  handkerchief  up  before  his 
face,  a  little  way  off,  and  ruthlessly  spat  in  it ! 


FORZA    MAGGIORE 


FORZA   MAGGIORE 

I  IMAGINE  that  Grossetto  is  not  a  town  much 
known  to  travel,  for  it  is  absent  from  all  the 
guide-books  I  have  looked  at.  However,  it  is  chief 
in  the  Maremma,  where  sweet  Pia  de'  Tolommei 
languished  and  perished  of  the  poisonous  air  and 
her  love's  cruelty,  and  where,  so  many  mute  centu 
ries  since,  the  Etrurian  cities  flourished  and  fell. 
Further,  one  may  say  that  Grossetto  is  on  the  dili 
gence  road  from  Civita  Vecchia  to  Leghorn,  and 
that  in  the  very  heart  of  the  place  there  is  a  lovely 
palm-tree,  rare,  if  not  sole,  in  that  latitude.  This 
palm  stands  in  a  well-sheltered,  dull  little  court, 
out  of  everything's  way,  and  turns  tenderly  toward 
the  wall  that  shields  it  on  the  north.  It  has  no 
other  company  but  a  beautiful  young  girl,  who 
leans  out  of  a  window  high  over  its  head,  and  I 


156  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

have  no  doubt  talks  with  it.  At  the  moment  we 
discovered  the  friends,  the  maiden  was  looking 
pathetically  to  the  northward,  while  the  palm  softly 
stirred  and  opened  its  plumes,  as  a  bird  does  when 
his  song  is  finished  ;  and  there  is  very  little  ques 
tion  but  it  had  just  been  singing  to  her  that  song  of 
which  the  palms  are  so  fond,  — 

"  Ein  Fichtenbaum  steht  einsam 
Im  Norden  auf  kahler  Uoh'." 

Grossetto  does  her  utmost  to  hide  the  secret  of 
this  tree's  existence,  as  if  a  hard,  matter-of-fact 
place  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  a  sentimentality  of 
the  kind.  It  pretended  to  be  a  very  worldly  town, 
and  tried  to  keep  us  in  the  neighborhood  of  its 
cathedral,  where  the  caffe  and  shops  are,  and  where, 
in  the  evening,  four  or  five  officers  of  the  garrison 
clinked  their  sabres  on  the  stones,  and  promenaded 
up  and  down,  and  as  many  ladies  shopped  for  gloves  ; 
and  as  many  citizens  sat  at  the  principal  caff£  and 
drank  black  coffee.  This  was  lively  enough  ;  and 
we  knew  that  the  citizens  were  talking  of  the  last 
week's  news  and  the  Roman  question  ;  that  the 
ladies  were  really  looking  for  loves,  not  gloves  ;  that 
such  of  the  officers  as  had  no  local  intrigue  to  keep 
their  hearts  at  rest  were  terribly  bored,  and  longed 
for  Florence  or  Milan  or  Turin. 

Besides  the  social  charms  of  her  piazza,  Grossetto 
put  forth  others  of  an  artistic  nature.  The  cathe 
dral  was  very  old  and  very  beautiful,  —  built  of 
alternate  lines  of  red  and  white  marble,  and  lately 
restored  in  the  best  spirit.  But  it  was  not  open, 


FORZA   MAGGIORE  157 

and  we  were  obliged  to  turn  from  it  to  the  group  of 
statuary  in  the  middle  of  the  piazza,  representative 
of  the  Maremma  and  Family  returning  thanks  to 
the  Grand  Duke  Leopold  III.  of  Tuscany  for  his 
goodness  in  causing  her  swamps  to  be  drained. 
The  Maremma  and  her  children  are  arrayed  in  the 
scant  draperies  of  Allegory,  but  the  Grand  Duke  is 
fully  dressed,  and  is  shown  looking  down  with  some 
surprise  at  their  figures,  and  with  an  apparent  doubt 
of  the  propriety  of  their  public  appearance  in  that 
state. 

There  was  also  a  museum  at  Grossetto,  and  I 
wonder  what  was  in  it  ? 

The  wall  of  the  town  was  perfect  yet,  though  the 
moat  at  its  feet  had  been  so  long  dry  that  it  was 
only  to  be  known  from  the  adjacent  fields  by  the 
richness  of  its  soil.  The  top  of  the  wall  had  been 
leveled,  and  planted  with  shade,  and  turned  into  a 
peaceful  promenade,  like  most  of  such  mediaeval 
defenses  in  Italy ;  though  I  am  not  sure  that  a  little 
military  life  did  not  still  linger  about  a  bastion  here 
and  there.  From  somewhere,  when  we  strolled  out 
early  in  the  morning,  to  walk  upon  the  wall,  there 
came  to  us  a  throb  of  drums  ;  but  I  believe  that  the 
only  armed  men  we  saw,  beside  the  officers  in  the 
piazza,  were  the  numerous  sportsmen  resorting  at 
that  season  to  Grossetto  for  the  excellent  shooting 
in  the  marshes.  All  the  way  to  Florence  we  con 
tinued  to  meet  them  and  their  dogs;  and  our  inn  at 
Grosetto  overflowed  with  abundance  of  game.  On 
the  kitchen  floor  and  in  the  court  were  heaps  of 


158  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

larks,  pheasants,  quails,  and  beccafichi,  at  which  a 
troop  of  scullion-boys  constantly  plucked,  and  from 
which  the  great,  noble,  beautiful,  white-aproned 
cook  forever  fried,  stewed,  broiled,  and  roasted. 
We  lived  chiefly  upon  these  generous  birds  during 
our  sojourn,  and  found,  when  we  attempted  to  vary 
our  bill  of  fare,  that  the  very  genteel  waiter  attend 
ing  us  had  few  distinct  ideas  beyond  them.  He  was 
part  of  the  repairs  and  improvements  which  that 
hostelry  had  recently  undergone,  and  had  evidently 
come  in  with  the  four-pronged  forks,  the  chromo 
lithographs  of  Victor  Emanuel,  Garibaldi,  Solferino, 
and  Magenta  in  the  large  dining-room,  and  the  iron 
stove  in  the  small  one.  He  had  nothing,  evidently, 
in  common  with  the  brick  floors  of  the  bed-cham 
bers,  and  the  ancient  rooms  with  great  fireplaces. 
He  strove  to  give  a  Florentine  polish  to  the  rusti 
city  of  life  in  the  Maremma ;  and  we  felt  sure  that 
he  must  know  what  beefsteak  was.  When  we 
ordered  it,  he  assumed  to  be  perfectly  conversant 
with  it,  started  to  bring  it,  paused,  turned,  and,  with 
a  great  sacrifice  of  personal  dignity,  demanded, 
"  Bifstcca  di  manzo,  o  bifsteca  di  motone  ?  "  — 
"  Beefsteak  of  beef,  or  beefsteak  of  mutton  ?  " 

Of  Grossetto  proper,  this  is  all  I  remember,  if  I 
except  a  boy  whom  I  heard  singing  after  dark  in 
the  streets, — 

"  Camicia  rossa,  camicia  ardente! " 

The  cause  of  our  sojourn  there  was  an  instance  of 
forza  maggiore,  as  the  agent  of  the  diligence  com- 


FORZA   MAGGIORE  159 

pany  defiantly  expressed  it,  in  refusing  us  damages 
for  our  overturn  into  the  river.     It  was  in  the  early 
part  of  the  winter  when  we  started  from  Rome  for 
Venice,  and  we  were  traveling  northward  by  dili 
gence  because  the  railways  were  still  more  or  less 
interrupted  by  the  storms  and  floods  predicted  of 
Matthieu  de  la  Drome,  —  the  only  reliable  prophet 
France  has  produced  since  Voltaire  ;  —  and  if  our 
accident  was  caused  by  an  overruling  Providence, 
the  company,  according  to  the  very  law  of  its  exist 
ence,  was  not  responsible.     To  be  sure,  we  did  not 
see  how  an  overruling  Providence  was  to  blame  for 
loading  upon  our  diligence  the  baggage  of  two  dili 
gences,  or  for  the  clumsiness  of  our  driver  ;  but,  on 
the  other  hand,  it  is  certain  that  the  company  did 
not  make  it  rain  or  cause  the  inundation.     And,  in 
fine,  although  we  could  not  have  traveled  by  rail 
way,  we  were  masters  to  have  taken  the  steamer 
instead  of  the  diligence  at  Civita  Vecchia. 

The  choice  of  either  of  these  means  of  travel  had 
presented  itself  in  vivid  hues  of  disadvantage  all 
the  way  from  Rome  to  the  Papal  port,  where  the 
French  steamer  for  Leghorn  lay  dancing  a  horn 
pipe  upon  the  short,  chopping  waves,  while  we 
approached  by  railway.  We  had  leisure  enough  to 
make  the  decision,  if  that  was  all  we  wanted.  Our 
engine-driver  had  derived  his  ideas  of  progress  from 
an  Encyclical  Letter,  and  the  train  gave  every  pro 
mise  of  arriving  at  Civita  Vecchia  five  hundred 
years  behind  time.  But  such  was  the  desolating 
and  depressing  influence  of  the  weather  and  the 


160  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

landscape,  that  we  reached  Civita  Vecchia  as  unde 
cided  as  we  had  left  Rome.  On  the  one  hand,  there 
had  been  the  land,  soaked  and  sodden,  —  wild,  shag 
ged  with  scrubby  growths  of  timber,  and  brooded 
over  by  sullen  clouds,  and  visibly  inhabited  only  by 
shepherds,  leaning  upon  their  staves  at  an  angle  of 
forty-five  degrees,  and  looking,  in  their  immovable 
dejection,  with  their  legs  wrapped  in  long-haired 
goatskins,  like  satyrs  that  had  been  converted,  and 
were  trying  to  do  right  ;  turning  dim  faces  to  us,  they 
warned  us  with  every  mute  appeal  against  the  land, 
as  a  waste  of  mud  from  one  end  of  Italy  to  the  other. 
On  the  other  hand,  there  was  the  sea-wind  raving 
about  our  train  and  threatening  to  blow  it  over,  and 
whenever  we  drew  near  the  coast,  heaping  the  waves 
upon  the  beach  in  thundering  menace. 

We  weakly  and  fearfully  remembered  our  former 
journeys  by  diligence  over  broken  railway  routes  ; 
we  recalled  our  cruel  voyage  from  Genoa  to  Naples 
by  sea.  Still,  we  might  have  lingered  and  hesitated, 
and  perhaps  returned  to  Rome  at  last,  but  for  the 
dramatic  resolution  of  the  old  man  who  solicited 
passengers  for  the  diligence,  and  carried  their  pass 
ports  for  a  final  papal  -visa  at  the  police-office.  By 
the  account  he  gave  of  himself,  he  was  one  of  the 
best  men  in  the  world,  and  unique  in  those  parts  for 
honesty ;  and  he  besought  us,  out  of  that  affection 
ate  interest  with  which  our  very  aspect  had  inspired 
him,  not  to  go  by  steamer,  but  to  go  by  diligence, 
which  in  nineteen  hours  would  land  us  safe,  and 
absolutely  refreshed  by  the  journey,  at  the  railway 


?-'\r-. ---§•?  t;-«psp/ 
^pC^ft-.rSf'f!^ 


.SBjfc  >  =s  •  ?«*&<'  *WflE 
r*':'Srv  »-  «r  «^  RSptr-'  ^if 
>-•••)£,.  j.  «. .•>>:5H!F,v ;- ••??&' 

ilr!tlfe;;?"' 

>.wA   \ta*.  ~-*J*~—*~~'  ..^5l3 


;i.aiE 


FORZA   MAGGIORE  161 

station  in  Follonica.  And  now,  once,  would  we  go 
by  diligence  ?  twice,  would  we  go  ?  three  times, 
would  we  go  ? 

"  Signore,"  said  our  benefactor  angrily,  "  I  lose 
my  time  with  you  ;  "  and  ran  away,  to  be  called  back 
in  the  course  of  destiny,  as  he  knew  well  enough, 
and  besought  to  take  us  as  a  special  favor. 

From  the  passports  he  learned  that  there  was  offi 
cial  dignity  among  us,  and  addressed  the  unworthy 
bearer  of  public  honors  as  Eccellenza,  and  at  parting 
bequeathed  his  advantage  to  the  conductor,  com 
mending  us  all  in  set  terms  to  his  courtesy.  He 
hovered  caressingly  about  us  as  long  as  we  remained, 
straining  politeness  to  do  us  some  last  little  service  ; 
and  when  the  diligence  rolled  away,  he  did  all  that 
one  man  could  to  give  us  a  round  of  applause. 

At  the  moment  of  departure,  we  were  surprised 
to  have  enter  the  diligence  a  fellow-countryman, 
whom  we  had  first  seen  on  the  road  from  Naples  to 
Rome.  He  had  since  crossed  our  path  with  that 
iteration  of  travel  which  brings  you  again  and  again 
in  view  of  the  same  trunks  and  the  same  tourists  in 
the  round  of  Europe,  and  finally  at  Civita  Vecchia 
he  had  turned  up,  a  silent  spectator  of  our  scene 
with  the  agent  of  the  diligence,  and  had  gone  off 
apparently  a  confirmed  passenger  by  steamer.  Per 
haps  a  nearer  view  of  the  sailor's  hornpipe,  as  danced 
by  that  vessel  in  the  harbor,  shook  his  resolution. 
At  any  rate,  here  he  was  again,  and  with  his  ticket 
for  Follonica,  —  a  bright-eyed,  rosy-cheeked  man, 
and  we  will  say  a  citizen  of  Portland,  though  he  was 


162  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

not.  For  the  first  time  in  our  long  acquaintance 
with  one  another's  faces,  we  entered  into  conversa 
tion,  and  wondered  whether  we  should  find  brigands 
or  anything  to  eat  on  the  road,  without  expectation  of 
finding  either.  '  In  respect  of  robbers,  we  were  not 
disappointed  ;  but  shortly  after  nightfall  we  stopped 
at  a  lonely  post-house  to  change  horses,  and  found 
that  the  landlord  had  so  far  counted  on  our  appear 
ance  as  to  have,  just  roasted  and  fragrantly  fuming, 
a  leg  of  lamb,  with  certain  small  fried  fish,  and  a 
sufficiency  of  bread.  It  was  a  very  lonely  place  as 
I  say  ;  the  sky  was  gloomy  overhead  ;  and  the  wild- 
ness  of  the  landscape  all  about  us  gave  our  provi 
sion  quite  a  gamy  flavor ;  and  brigands  could  have 
added  nothing  to  our  sense  of  solitude. 

The  road  creeps  along  the  coast  for  some  distance 
from  Civita  Vecchia,  within  hearing  of  the  sea,  and 
nowhere  widely  forsakes  it,  I  believe,  all  the  way  to 
Follonica.  The  country  is  hilly,  and  we  stopped 
every  two  hours  to  change  horses ;  at  which  times 
we  looked  out,  and,  seeing  that  it  was  a  gray  and 
windy  night,  though  not  rainy,  exulted  that  we  had 
not  taken  the  steamer.  With  very  little  change, 
the  wisdom  of  our  decision  in  favor  of  the  diligence 
formed  the  burden  of  our  talk  during  the  whole 
night ;  and  to  think  of  eluded  seasickness  requited 
us  in  the  agony  of  our  break-neck  efforts  to  catch  a 
little  sleep,  as,  mounted  upon  our  nightmares,  we 
rode  steeple-chases  up  and  down  the  highways 
and  byways  of  horror.  Anything  that  absolutely 
awakened  us  was  accounted  a  blessing ;  and  I  re- 


FORZA   MAGGIORE  163 

member  few  things  in  life  with  so  keen  a  pleasure  as 
the  summons  that  came  to  us  to  descend  from  our 
places  and  cross  a  river  in  one  boat,  while  the  two 
diligences  of  our  train  followed  in  another.  Here 
we  had  time  to  see  our  fellow-passengers,  as  the  pul 
sating  light  of  their  .cigars  illumined  their  faces,  and 
to  discover  among  them  that  Italian,  common  to  all 
large  companies,  who  speaks  English,  and  is  very 
eager  to  practice  it  with  you,  —  who  is  such  a  bene 
factor  if  you  do  not  know  his  own  language,  and 
such  a  bore  if  you  do.  After  this,  being  landed,  it 
was  rapture  to  stroll  up  and  down  the  good  road, 
and  feel  it  hard  and  real  under  our  feet,  and  not  an 
abysmal  impalpability,  while  all  the  grim  shapes  of 
our  dreams  fled  to  the  spectral  line  of  small  boats 
sustaining  the  ferry-barge,  and  swaying  slowly  from 
it  as  the  drowned  men  at  their  keels  tugged  them 
against  the  tide. 

"  S'  accommodiho,  Signori !  "  cries  the  cheerful 
voice  of  the  conductor,  and  we  ascend  to  our  places 
in  the  diligence.  The  nightmares  are  brought  out 
again  ;  we  mount,  and  renew  the  steeple-chase  as 
before. 

Suddenly  it  all  comes  to  an  end,  and  we  sit  wide 
awake  in  the  diligence,  amid  a  silence  only  broken 
by  the  hiss  of  rain  against  the  windows,  and  the 
sweep  of  gusts  upon  the  roof.  The  diligence  stands 
still ;  there  is  no  rattle  of  harness,  nor  other  sound 
to  prove  that  we  have  arrived  at  the  spot  by  other 
means  than  dropping  from  the  clouds.  The  idea 
that  we  are  passengers  in  the  last  diligence  destroyed 


164  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

before  the  Deluge,  and  are  now  waiting  our  fate  on 
the  highest  ground  accessible  to  wheels,  fades  away 
as  the  day  dimly  breaks,  and  we  find  ourselves 
planted,  as  the  Italians  say,  on  the  banks  of  another 
river.  There  is  no  longer  any  visible  conductor, 
the  horses  have  been  spirited  away,  the  driver  has 
vanished. 

The  rain  beats  and  beats  upon  the  roof,  and  begins 
to  drop  through  upon  us  in  great,  wrathful  tears, 
while  the  river  before  us  rushes  away  with  a  mo 
mently  swelling  flood.  Enter  now  from  the  depths 
of  the  storm  a  number  of  rainy  peasants,  with  our 
conductor  and  driver  perfectly  waterlogged,  and 
group  themselves  on  the  low,  muddy  shore,  near  a 
flat  ferry-barge,  evidently  wanting  but  a  hint  of 
forza  maggiore  to  go  down  with  anything  put  into 
it.  A  moment  they  dispute  in  pantomime,  sending 
now  and  then  a  windy  tone  of  protest  and  expos 
tulation  to  our  ears,  and  then  they  drop  into  a  mo 
tionless  silence,  and  stand  there  in  the  tempest, 
not  braving  it,  but  enduring  it  with  the  pathetic 
resignation  of  their  race,  as  if  it  were  some  form  of 
hopeless  political  oppression.  At  last  comes  the 
conductor  to  us  and  says  it  is  impossible  for  our 
diligences  to  cross  in  the  boat,  and  he  has  sent  for 
others  to  meet  us  on  the  opposite  shore.  He  ex 
pected  them  long  before  this,  but  we  see !  They 
are  not  come.  Patience  and  malediction  ! 

Remaining  planted  in  these  unfriendly  circum 
stances  from  four  o'clock  till  ten,  we  have  still  the 
effrontery  to  be  glad  that  we  did  not  take  the  steamer. 


WU:  -Jj 

/'If          /          * 

!m 


^mmisf^^  w£ 

JL_  _J .  /£%  -  —  -^ uaj^i  i*«K;     »^>  ^ 


«Kt-;*te«3!fefcy7  / 

mSS$i%g&&Wiit  /> 


FORZA   MAGGIORE  165 

What  a  storm  that  must  be  at  sea !  When  at  last 
our  connecting  diligences  appear  on  the  other  shore, 
we  are  almost  light-hearted,  and  make  a  jest  of  the 
Ombrone,  as  we  perilously  pass  it  in  the  ferry-boat 
too  weak  for  our  diligences.  Between  the  landing 
and  the  vehicles  there  is  a  space  of  heavy  mud  to 
cross,  and  when  we  reach  them  we  find  the  coupt 
appointed  us  occupied  by  three  young  Englishmen, 
who  insist  that  they  shall  be  driven  to  the  boat. 
They  keep  the  seats  to  which  they  have  no  longer 
any  right,  while  the  tempest  drenches  the  ladies 
to  whom  the  places  belong;  and  it  is  only  by  the 
forsa  maggiore  of  our  conductor  that  they  can  be 
dislodged.  In  the  mean  time  the  Portland  man  ex 
changes  with  them  the  assurances  of  personal  and 
national  esteem,  which  that  mighty  bond  of  friend 
ship,  the  language  of  Shakespeare  and  Milton,  en 
ables  us  to  offer  so  idiomatically  to  our  transatlantic 
cousins. 

What  Grossetto  was  like,  as  we  first  rode  through 
it,  we  scarcely  looked  to  see.  In  four  or  five  hours 
we  should  strike  the  railroad  at  Follonica ;  and  we 
merely  asked  of  intermediate  places  that  they  should 
not  detain  us.  We  dined  in  Grossetto  at  an  inn  of 
the  Larthian  period,  — a  cold  inn  and  a  damp,  which 
seemed  never  to  have  been  swept  since  the  broom 
dropped  from  the  grasp  of  the  last  Etrurian  cham 
bermaid,  —  and  we  ate  with  the  two-pronged  iron 
forks  of  an  extinct  civilization.  All  the  while  we 
dined,  a  boy  tried  to  kindle  a  fire  to  warm  us,  and 
beguiled  his  incessant  failures  with  stories  of  inunda- 


166  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

tion  on  the  road  ahead  of  us.  But  we  believed  him 
so  little,  that  when  he  said  a  certain  stream  near 
Grossetto  was  impassable,  our  company  all  but  hissed 
him. 

When  we  left  the  town  and  hurried  into  the  open 
country,  we  perceived  that  he  had  only  too  great 
reason  to  be  an  alarmist.  Every  little  rill  was  risen, 
and  boiling  over  with  the  pride  of  harm,  and  the 
broad  fields  lay  hid  under  the  yellow  waters  that 
here  and  there  washed  over  the  road.  Yet  the 
freshet  only  presented  itself  to  us  as  a  pleasant  ex 
citement  ;  and  even  when  we  came  to  a  place  where 
the  road  itself  was  covered  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile, 
we  scarcely  looked  outside  the  diligence  to  see  how 
deep  the  water  was.  We  were  surprised  when  our 
horses  were  brought  to  a  stand  on  a  rising  ground, 
and  the  conductor,  cap  in  hand,  appeared  at  the  door. 
He  was  a  fat,  well-natured  man,  full  of  a  smiling 
good-will ;  and  he  stood  before  us  in  a  radiant  des 
peration. 

Would  Eccellenza  descend,  look  at  the  water  in 
front,  and  decide  whether  to  go  on  ?  The  conductor 
desired  to  content ;  it  displeased  him  to  delay,  — ma 
in  somma !  —  the  rest  was  confided  to  the  con 
ductor's  eloquent  shoulders  and  eyebrows. 

Eccellenza,  descending,  beheld  a  disheartening 
prospect.  On  every  hand  the  country  was  under 
water.  The  two  diligences  stood  on  a  stone  bridge 
spanning  the  stream,  that,  now  swollen  to  an  angry 
torrent,  brawled  over  a  hundred  yards  of  the  road 
before  us.  Beyond,  the  ground  rose,  and  on  its 


FORZA   MAGGIORE  167 

slope  stood  a  farmhouse  up  to  its  second  story  in 
water.  Without  the  slightest  hope  in  his  purpose, 
and  merely  as  an  experiment,  Eccellenza  suggested 
that  a  man  should  be  sent  in  on  horseback  ;  which 
being  done,  man  and  horse  in  a  moment  floundered 
into  swimming  depths. 

The  conductor,  vigilantly  regarding  Eccellenza, 
gave  a  great  shrug  of  desolation. 

Eccellenza  replied  with  a  foreigner's  shrug,  —  a 
shrug  of  sufficiently  correct  construction,  but  want 
ing  the  tonic  accent,  as  one  may  say,  though  ex 
pressing,  however  imperfectly,  an  equal  desolation. 

It  appeared  to  be  the  part  of  wisdom  not  to  go 
ahead,  but  to  go  back  if  we  could  ;  and  we  reentered 
the  water  we  had  just  crossed.  It  had  risen  a  little, 
meanwhile,  and  the  road  could  now  be  traced  only 
hy  the  telegraph  poles.  The  diligence  before  us 
went  safely  through  ;  but  our  driver,  trusting  rather 
to  inspiration  than  precedent,  did  not  follow  it  care 
fully,  and  directly  drove  us  over  the  side  of  a  small 
viaduct.  All  the  baggage  of  the  train  having  been 
lodged  upon  the  roof  of  our  diligence,  the  unwieldy 
vehicle  now  lurched  heavily,  hesitated,  as  if  prepar 
ing,  like  Caesar,  to  fall  decently,  and  went  over  on  its 
side  with  a  stately  deliberation  that  gave  us  ample 
time  to  arrange  our  plans  for  getting  out. 

The  torrent  was  only  some  three  feet  deep,  but  it 
Aras  swift  and  muddy,  and  it  was  with  a  fine  sense  of 
shipwreck  that  Eccellenza  felt  his  boots  filling  with 
water,  while  a  conviction  that  it  would  have  been 
better,  after  all,  to  have  taken  the  steamer,  struck 


i68  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

coldly  home  to  him.  We  opened  the  window  in  the 
top  side  of'the  diligence,  and  lifted  the  ladies  through 
it,  and  the  conductor,  in  the  character  of  life-boat, 
bore  them  ashore ;  while  the  driver  cursed  his  horses 
in  a  sullen  whisper,  and  could  with  difficulty  be 
diverted  from  that  employment  to  cut  the  lines 
and  save  one  of  them  from  drowning. 

Here  our  compatriot,  whose  conversation  with 
the  Englishman  at  the  Ombrone  we  had  lately  ad 
mired,  showed  traits  of  strict  and  severe  method 
which  afterward  came  into  even  bolder  relief.  The 
ladies  being  rescued,  he  applied  himself  to  the  res 
cue  of  their  hats,  cloaks,  rubbers,  muffs,  books,  and 
bags,  and  handed  them  up  through  the  window  with 
tireless  perseverance,  making  an  effort  to  wring  or 
dry  each  article  in  turn.  The  other  gentleman  on 
top  received  them  all  rather  grimly,  and  had  not 
perhaps  been  amused  by  the  situation  but  for  the  ex 
ploit  of  his  hat.  It  was  of  the  sort  called  in  Italian 
as  in  English  slang  a  stove-pipe  (canna),  and  having 
been  made  in  Italy,  it  was  of  course  too  large  for  its 
wearer.  It  had  never  been  anything  but  a  horror 
and  reproach  to  him,  and  he  was  now  inexpressibly 
delighted  to  see  it  steal  out  of  the  diligence  in  com 
pany  with  one  of  the  red-leather  cushions,  and  glide 
darkly  down  the  flood.  It  nodded  and  nodded  to 
the  cushion  with  a  superhuman  tenderness  and  ele 
gance,  and  had  a  preposterous  air  of  whispering,  as 
it  drifted  out  of  sight,  — 

"  It  may  be  we  shall  reach  the  Happy  Isles,  — 
It  may  be  that  the  gulfs  shall  wash  us  down." 


FORZA   MAGGIORE  169 

The  romantic  interest  of  this  episode  had  hardly 
died  away,  when  our  adventure  acquired  an  idyllic 
flavor  from  the  appearance  on  the  scene  of  four 
peasants  in  an  ox-cart.  These  the  conductor  tried 
to  engage  to  bring  out  the  baggage  and  right  the 
fallen  diligence ;  and  they,  after  making  him  a  little 
speech  upon  the  value  of  their  health  which  might 
be  injured,  asked  him,  tentatively  two  hundred 
francs  for  the  service.  The  simple  incident  en 
forced  the  fact  already  known  to  us,  —  that  if  Ital 
ians  sometimes  take  advantage  of  strangers,  they 
are  equally  willing  to  prey  upon  each  other ;  but  I 
doubt  if  anything  could  have  taught  a  foreigner 
the  sweetness  with  which  our  conductor  bore  the 
enormity,  and  turned  quietly  from  those  brigands  to 
carry  the  Portland  man  from  the  wreck,  on  which 
he  lingered,  to  the  shore. 

Here  in  the  gathering  twilight  the  passengers  of 
both  diligences  grouped  themselves,  and  made 
merry  over  the  common  disaster.  As  the  conductor 
and  the  drivers  brought  off  the  luggage  our  spirits 
rose  with  the  arrival  of  each  trunk,  and  we  were 
pleased  or  not  as  we  found  it  soaked  or  dry.  We 
applauded  and  admired  the  greater  sufferers  among 
us  :  a  lady  who  opened  a  dripping  box  was  felt  to 
have  perpetrated  a  pleasantry ;  and  a  Brazilian  gen 
tleman,  whose  luggage  dropped  to  pieces  and  was 
scattered  in  the  flood  about  the  diligence,  was  looked 
upon  as  a  very  subtile  humorist.  Our  own  contri 
bution  to  these  witty  passages  was  the  epigrammatic 
display  of  a  reeking  trunk  full  of  the  pretty  rubbish 


1 70  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

people  bring  away  from  Rome  and  Naples,  —  copies 
of  Pompeian  frescoes  more  ruinous  than  the  origi 
nals  ;  photographs  floating  loose  from  their  cards  ; 
little  earthen  busts  reduced  to  the  lumpishness  of 
common  clay ;  Roman  scarfs  stained  and  blotted 
out  of  all  memory  of  their  recent  hues  ;  Roman 
pearls  clinging  together  in  clammy  masses. 

We  were  a  band  of  brothers  and  sisters,  as  we  all 
crowded  into  one  diligence  and  returned  to  Gros- 
setto.  Arrived  there,  our  party,  knowing  that  a 
public  conveyance  in  Italy  always  stops  at  the  worst 
inn  in  a  place,  made  bold  to  seek  another,  and 
found  it  without  ado,  though  the  person  who  under 
took  to  show  it  spoke  of  it  mysteriously  and  as  of 
difficult  access,  and  tried  to  make  the  simple  affair 
as  like  a  scene  of  grand  opera  as  he  could. 

We  took  one  of  the  ancient  rooms  in  which  there 
was  a  vast  fireplace,  as  already  mentioned,  and  we 
there  kindled  such  a  fire  as  could  not  have  been 
known  in  that  fuel-sparing  land  for  ages.  The  dry 
ing  of  the  clothes  was  an  affair  that  drew  out  all  the 
energy  and  method  of  our  compatriot,  and  at  a  late 
hour  we  left  him  moving  about  among  the  garments 
that  dangled  and  dripped  from  pegs  and  hooks  and 
lines,  dealing  with  them  as  a  physician  with  his  sick, 
and  tenderly  nursing  his  dress-coat,  which  he  wrung 
and  shook  and  smoothed  and  pulled  this  way  and 
that  with  a  never-satisfied  anxiety.  At  midnight, 
he  hired  a  watcher  to  keep  up  the  fire  and  turn  the 
steaming  raiment,  and  returning  at  four  o'clock, 
found  his  watcher  dead  asleep  before  the  empty 


FORZA   MAGGIORE  171 

fireplace.  But  I  rather  applaud  than  blame  the 
watcher  for  this.  He  must,  have  been  a  man  of 
iron  nerve  to  fall  asleep  amid  all  that  phantasmal 
show  of  masks  and  disguises.  What  if  those  reek 
ing  silks  had  forsaken  their  nails,  and,  decking  them 
selves  with  the  blotted  Roman  scarfs  and  the  slimy 
Roman  pearls,  had  invited  the  dress-coats  to  look 
over  the  dripping  photographs  ?  Or  if  all  those 
drowned  garments  had  assumed  the  characters  of 
the  people  whom  they  had  grown  to  resemble,  and 
had  sat  down  to  hear  the  shade  of  Pia  de'  Tolom- 
mei  rehearse  the  story  of  her  sad  fate  in  the  Ma- 
remma  ?  I  say,  if  a  watcher  could  sleep  in  such 
company,  he  was  right  to  do  so. 

On  the  third  day  after  our  return  to  Grossetto  we 
gathered  together  our  damaged  effects,  and  packed 
them  into  refractory  trunks.  Then  we  held  the  cus 
tomary  discussion  with  the  landlord  concerning  the 
effrontery  of  his  account,  and  drove  off  once  more 
toward  Follonica.  We  could  scarcely  recognize  the 
route  for  the  one  we  had  recently  passed  over  ;  and 
it  was  not  until  we  came  to  the  scene  of  our  wreck, 
and  found  the  diligence  stranded  high  and  dry  upon 
the  roadside,  that  we  could  believe  the  whole  land 
scape  about  us  had  been  flooded  three  days  before. 
The  offending  stream  had  shrunk  back  to  its  chan 
nel,  and  now  seemed  to  feign  an  unconsciousness  of 
its  late  excess,  and  had  a  virtuous  air  of  not  know 
ing  how  in  the  world  to  account  for  that  upturned 
diligence.  The  waters,  we  learned,  had  begun  to 


i;2  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

subside  the  night  after  our  disaster  ;  and  the  vehi 
cle  might  have  been  righted  and  drawn  off  —  for  it 
was  not  in  the  least  injured  —  forty-eight  hours  pre 
viously  ;  but  I  suppose  it  was  not  en  rtgle  to  touch 
it  without  orders  from  Rome.  I  picture  it  to  myself 
still  lying  there,  in  the  heart  of  the  marshes,  and 
thrilling  sympathetic  travel  with  the  spectacle  of  its 
ultimate  ruin  :  — 

"  Disfecemi  Maremma." 

We  reached  Follonica  at  last,  and  then  the  cars 
hurried  us  to  Leghorn.  We  were  thoroughly  hum 
bled  in  spirit,  and  had  no  longer  any  doubt  that  we 
did  ill  to  take  the  diligence  at  Civita  Vecchia  in 
stead  of  the  steamer ;  for  we  had  been,  not  nineteen 
hours,  but  four  days  on  the  road,  and  we  had  suf 
fered  as  aforementioned. 

But  we  were  destined  to  be  partially  restored  to 
our  self-esteem,  if  not  entirely  comforted  for  our 
losses,  when  we  sat  down  to  dinner  in  the  Hotel 
Washington,  and  the  urbane  head-waiter,  catching 
the  drift  of  our  English  discourse,  asked  us,  — 

"Have  the  signori  heard  that  the  French  steamer, 
which  left  Civita  Vecchia  the  same  day  with  their 
diligence,  had  to  put  back  and  lie  in  port  more 
than  two  days  on  account  of  the  storm  ?  She  is 
but  now  come  into  Leghorn,  after  a  very  danger 
ous  passage." 


AT   PADUA 


AT    PADUA 


THOSE  of  my  readers  who  have  frequented 
the  garden  of  Doctor  Rappaccini  no  doubt 
recall  with  perfect  distinctness  the  quaint  old  city 
of  Padua.  They  remember  its  miles  and  miles  of 
dim  arcade  over-roofing  the  sidewalks  everywhere, 
affording  excellent  opportunity  for  the  flirtation  of 
lovers  by  day  and  the  vengeance  of  rivals  by  night. 
They  have  seen  the  now  vacant  streets  thronged 
with  maskers,  and  the  Venetian  Podesta  going  in 
gorgeous  state  to  and  from  the  vast  Palazzo  della 
Ragione.  They  have  witnessed  ringing  tourna 
ments  in  those  sad  empty  squares,  and  races  in  the 


1 76 


ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 


Prato  della  Valle,  and  many  other  wonders  of  differ 
ent  epochs,  and  their  pleasure  makes  me  half  sorry 
that  I  should  have  lived  for  several  years  within  an 
hour  by  rail  from  Padua,  and  should  know  little  or 
nothing  of  those  great  sights  from  actual  observa 
tion.  I  take  shame  to  myself  for  having  visited 
Padua  so  often  and  so  familiarly  as  I  used  to  do,  — 
for  having  been  bored  and  hungry  there,  —  for  hav 
ing  had  toothache  there,  upon  one  occasion,  —  for 
having  rejoiced  more  in  a  cup  of  coffee  at  Pedroc- 
chi's  than  in  the  whole  history  of  Padua,  —  for 
having  slept  repeatedly  in  the  bad-bedded  hotels  of 
Padua  and  never  once  dreamt  of  Portia,  —  for  hav 
ing  been  more  taken  by  the  salti  mortali^  of  a 
waiter  who  summed  up  my  account  at  a  Paduan  res 
taurant,  than  by  all  the  strategies  with  which  the 
city  has  been  many  times  captured  and  recaptured. 
Had  I  viewed  Padua  only  over  the  wall  of  Doctor 
Rappaccini's  garden,  how  different  my  impressions 
of  the  city  would  now  be !  This  is  one  of  the  draw 
backs  of  actual  knowledge.  "  Ah  !  how  can  you 
write  about  Spain  when  once  you  have  been  there  ?  " 
asked  Heine  of  Th^ophile  Gautier,  setting  out  on  a 
journey  thither. 

Nevertheless  it  seems  to  me  that  I  remember 
something  about  Padua  with  a  sort  of  romantic 
pleasure.  There  was  a  certain  charm  in  sauntering 
along  the  top  of  the  old  wall  of  the  city,  and  looking 

1  Salti  mortali  are  those  prodigious  efforts  of  mental  arithmetic 
by  which  Italian  waiters,  in  verbally  presenting  your  account, 
arrive  at  six  as  the  product  of  two  and  two. 


PADUA,  STREET  WITH  ARCADES 


AT   PADUA  177 

down  upon  the  plumy  crests  of  the  Indian  corn  that 
flourished  up  so  mightily  from  the  dry  bed  of  the 
moat.  At  such  times  I  figured  to  myself  the  many 
sieges  that  the  wall  had  known,  with  the  fierce 
assault  by  day,  the  secret  attack  by  night,  the 
swarming  foe  upon  the  plains  below,  the  bristling 
arms  of  the  besieged  upon  the  wall,  the  boom  of  the 
great  mortars  made  of  ropes  and  leather  and  throw 
ing  mighty  balls  of  stone,  the  stormy  flight  of  ar 
rows,  the  ladders  planted  against  the  defenses  and 
staggering  headlong  into  the  moat,  enriched  for  fu 
ture  agriculture  not  only  by  its  sluggish  waters,  but 
by  the  blood  of  many  men.  I  suppose  that  most  of 
these  visions  were  old  stage  spectacles  furbished  up 
anew,  and  that  my  armies  were  chiefly  equipped  with 
their  obsolete  implements  of  warfare  from  museums 
of  armor  and  from  cabinets  of  antiquities  ;  but  they 
were  very  vivid  for  all  that. 

I  was  never  able,  in  passing  a  certain  one  of  the 
city  gates,  to  divest  myself  of  an  historic  interest  in 
the  great  loads  of  hay  waiting  admission  on  the  out 
side.  For  an  instant  they  masked  again  the  Vene 
tian  troops  that,  in  the  War  of  the  League  of  Cam- 
bray,  entered  the  city  in  the  hay-carts,  shot  down 
the  landsknechts  at  the  gates,  and  uniting  with  the 
citizens,  cut  the  German  garrison  to  pieces.  But  it 
was  a  thing  long  past.  The  German  garrison  was 
here  again  ;  and  the  heirs  of  the  landsknechts  went 
clanking  through  the  gate  to  the  parade-ground, 
with  that  fierce  clamor  of  their  kettle-drums  which 
is  so  much  fiercer  because  unmingled  with  the  noise 


i;8  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

of  fifes.  Once  more  now  the  Germans  are  gone, 
and,  let  us  trust,  forever ;  but  when  I  saw  them, 
there  seemed  little  hope  of  their  going.  They  had 
a  great  Biergarten  on  the  top  of  the  wall,  and  they 
had  set  up  the  altars  of  their  heavy  Bacchus  in 
many  parts  of  the  city. 

I  please  myself  with  thinking  that,  if  I  walked  on 
such  a  spring  day  as  this  in  the  arcaded  Pacluan 
streets,  I  should  catch  glimpses,  through  the  gate 
ways  of  the  palaces,  of  gardens  full  of  vivid  bloom, 
and  of  fountains  that  tinkle  there  forever.  If  it 
were  autumn,  and  I  were  in  the  great  market-place 
before  the  Palazzo  della  Ragione,  I  should  hear  the 
baskets  of  amber-hued  and  honeyed  grapes  hum 
ming  with  the  murmur  of  multitudinous  bees,  and 
making  a  music  as  if  the  wine  itself  were  already 
singing  in  their  gentle  hearts.  It  is  a  great  field 
of  succulent  verdure,  that  wide  old  market-place  ; 
and  fancy  loves  to  browse  about  among  its  gay 
stores  of  fruits  and  vegetables,  brought  thither  by 
the  world-old  peasant-women  who  have  been  bring 
ing  fruits  and  vegetables  to  the  Paduan  market 
for  so  many  centuries.  They  sit  upon  the  ground 
before  their  great  panniers,  and  knit  and  doze, 
and  wake  up  with  a  drowsy  "  Comandala  ?  "  as  you 
linger  to  look  at  their  grapes.  They  have  each  a 
pair  of  scales,  —  the  emblem  of  Injustice, — and 
will  weigh  you  out  a  scant  measure  of  the  fruit  if 
you  like.  Their  faces  are  yellow  as  parchment, 
and  Time  has  written  them  so  full  of  wrinkles  that 
there  in  not  room  for  another  line.  Doubtless 


AT   PADUA  179 

these  old  parchment  visages  are  palimpsests,  and 
would  tell  the  whole  history  of  Padua  if  you  could 
get  at  each  successive  inscription.  Among  their 
primal  records  there  must  be  some  account  of  the 
Roman  city,  as  each  little  contadinella  remembered 
it  on  market-days ;  and  one  might  read  of  the  terror 
of  Attila's  sack,  a  little  later,  with  the  peasant-maid's 
personal  recollections  of  the  bold  Hunnish  trooper 
who  ate  up  the  grapes  in  her  basket,  and  kissed  her 
hard,  round  red  cheeks,  — for  in  that  time  she  was 
a  blooming  girl,  —  and  paid  nothing  for  either  privi 
lege.  What  wild  and  confused  reminiscences  on 
the  wrinkled  visage  we  should  find  thereafter  of 
the  fierce  republican  times,  of  Ecelino,  of  the  Car- 
raras,  of  the  Venetian  rule!  And  is  it  not  sad  to 
think  of  systems  and  peoples  all  passing  away,  and 
these  ancient  women  lasting  still,  and  still  selling 
grapes  in  front  of  the  Palazzo  della  Ragione  ?  What 
a  long  mortality  ! 

The  youngest  of  their  number  is  a  thousand 
years  older  than  the  palace,  which  was  begun  in  the 
twelfth  century,  and  which  is  much  the  same  now 
as  it  was  when  first  completed.  I  know  that,  if  I 
entered  it,  I  should  be  sure  of  finding  the  great 
hall  of  the  palace  —  the  greatest  hall  in  the  world 
—  dim  and  dull  and  dusty  and  delightful,  with  no 
thing  in  it  except  at  one  end  Donatello's  colossal 
marble-headed  wooden  horse  of  Troy,  stared  at 
from  the  other  end  by  the  two  dog-faced  Egyptian 
women  in  basalt  placed  there  by  Belzoni. 

Late  in  the  drowsy  summer  afternoons  I  should 


i8o  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

have  the  Court  of  the  University  all  to  myself,  and 
might  study  unmolested  the  blazons  of  the  noble 
youth  who  have  attended  the  school  in  different 
centuries  ever  since  1200,  and  have  left  their  es 
cutcheons  on  the  walls  to  commemorate  them.  At 
the  foot  of  the  stairway  ascending  to  the  schools 
from  the  court  is  the  statue  of  the  learned  lady  who 
was  once  a  professor  in  the  University,  and  who, 
if  her  likeness  belie  not  her  looks,  must  have  given 
a  great  charm  to  student  life  in  other  times.  At 
present  there  are  no  lady  professors  at  Padua  any 
more  than  at  Harvard  ;  and  during  late  years  the 
schools  have  suffered  greatly  from  the  interference 
of  the  Austrian  government,  which  frequently 
closed  them  for  months,  on  account  of  political  de 
monstrations  among  the  students.  But  now  there 
is  an  end  of  this  and  many  other  stupid  oppres 
sions  ;  and  the  time-honored  University  will  doubt 
less  regain  its  ancient  importance.  Even  in  1864 
it  had  nearly  fifteen  hundred  students,  and  one  met 
them  everywhere  under  the  arcades,  and  could  not 
well  mistake  them,  with  that  blended  air  of  pirate 
and  dandy  which  the  studious  young  men  loved  to 
assume.  They  were  to  be  seen  a  good  deal  on  the 
promenades  outside  the  walls,  where  the  Paduan 
ladies  are  driven  in  their  carriages  in  the  afternoon, 
and  where  one  sees  the  blood-horses  and  fine  equi 
pages  for  which  Padua  is  famous.  There  used  once 
to  be  races  in  the  Prato  della  Valle,  after  the  Italian 
notion  of  horse-races ;  but  these  are  now  discontin 
ued,  and  there  is  nothing  to  be  found  there  but  the 


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AT   PADUA  181 

statues  of  scholars,  and  soldiers  and  statesmen, 
posted  in  a  circle  around  the  old  race-course.  If 
you  strolled  thither  about  dusk  on  such  a  day  as 
this,  you  might  see  the  statues  unbend  a  little  from 
their  stony  rigidity,  and  in  the  failing  light  nod  to 
each  other  very  pleasantly  through  the  trees.  And 
if  you  stayed  in  Padua  over  night,  what  could  be 
better  to-morrow  morning  than  a  stroll  through  the 
great  Botanical  Garden, — the  oldest  botanical  gar 
den  in  the  world,  —  the  garden  which  first  received 
in  Europe  the  strange  and  splendid  growths  of  our  , 
hemisphere, — the.  garden  where  Doctor  Rappac- 
cini  doubtless  found  the  germ  of  his  mortal  plant  ? 

The  day  that  we  first  visited  the  city  was  very 
rainy,  and  we  spent  most  of  the  time  in  viewing 
the  churches.  Their  architecture  forms  a  sort  of 
border-land  between  the  Byzantine  of  Venice  and 
the  Lombardic  of  Verona.  The  superb  domes  of 
St.  Anthony's  emulate  those  of  St.  Mark's  ;  and  the 
porticoes  of  other  Paduan  churches  rest  upon  the 
backs  of  bird-headed  lions  and  leopards  that  fascinate 
with  their  mystery  and  beauty. 

It  was  the  wish  to  see  the  attributive  Giottos  in 
the  Chapter  which  drew  us  first  to  St.  Anthony's,  and 
we  saw  them  with  the  satisfaction  naturally  attend 
ing  the  contemplation  of  frescoes  discovered  only 
since  1858,  after  having  been  hidden  under  plaster 
and  whitewash  for  many  centuries ;  but  we  could 
not  believe  that  Giotto's  fame  was  destined  to  gain 
much  by  their  rescue  from  oblivion.  They  are  in 
nowise  to  be  compared  with  this  master's  frescoes  in 


182  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

the  Chapel  of  the  Annunziata,  —  which,  indeed,  is 
in  every  way  a  place  of  wonder  and  delight.  You 
reach  it  by  passing  through  a  garden  lane  bordered 
with  roses,  and  a  taciturn  gardener  comes  out  with 
clinking  keys,  and  lets  you  into  the  chapel,  where 
there  is  nobody  but  Giotto  and  Dante,  nor  seems  to 
have  been  for  ages.  Cool  it  is,  and  of  a  pulverous 
smell,  as  a  sacred  place  should  be  ;  a  blessed  bench 
ing  goes  round  the  walls,  and  you  sit  down  and  take 
unlimited  comfort  in  the  frescoes.  The  gardener 
leaves  you  alone  to  the  solitude  and  the  silence,  in 
which  the  talk  of  the  painter  aijd  the  exile  is  plain 
enough.  Their  contemporaries  and  yours  are  cor 
dial  in  their  gay  companionship  :  through  the  half- 
open  door  falls,  in  a  pause  of  the  rain,  the  same  sun 
shine  that  they  saw  lie  there ;  the  deathless  birds 
that  they  heard  sing  out  in  the  garden  trees ;  it  is 
the  fresh  sweetness  of  the  grass  mown  so  many  hun 
dred  years  ago  that  breathes  through  all  the  lovely 
garden  grounds. 

But  in  the  midst  of  this  pleasant  communion 
with  the  past  you  have  a  lurking  pain  ;  for  you  have 
hired  your  brougham  by  the  hour ;  and  you  pre 
sently  quit  the  Chapel  of  Giotto  on  this  account. 

We  had  chosen  our  driver  from  among  many 
other  drivers  of  broughams  in  the  vicinity  of  Pedroc- 
chi's,  because  he  had  such  an  honest  look,  and  was 
not  likely,  we  thought,  to  deal  unfairly  with  us. 

"But  first,"  said  the  signorwho  had  selected  him, 
"  how  much  is  your  brougham  an  hour?  " 

So  and  so. 


AT   PADUA  183 

"  Show  me  the  tariff  of  fares." 

"There  is  no  tariff." 

"There  is.     Show  it  to  me." 

"  It  is  lost,  signer." 

"  I  think  not.  It  is  here  in  this  pocket.  Get  it 
out." 

The  tariff  appears,  and  with  it  the  fact  that  he 
had  demanded  just  what  the  boatman  of  the  ballad 
received  in  gift,  — thrice  his  fee. 

The  driver  mounted  his  seat,  and  served  us  so 
faithfully  that  day  in  Padua  that  we  took  him  the 
next  day  for  Arqua.  At  the  end,  when  he  had  re 
ceived  his  due,  and  a  handsome  mancia  besides,  he 
was  still  unsatisfied,  and  referred  to  the  tariff  in 
proof  that  he  had  been  underpaid.  On  that  con 
fronted  and  defeated,  he  thanked  us  very  cordially, 
gave  us  the  number  of  his  brougham,  and  begged  us 
to  ask  for  him  when  we  came  next  to  Padua  and 
needed  a  carriage. 

From  the  Chapel  of  the  Annunziata  he  drove  us 
to  the  Church  of  Santa  Giustina,  where  is  a  very 
famous  and  noble  picture  by  Romanino.  But  as  this 
writing  has  nothing  in  the  world  to  do  with  art,  I 
here  dismiss  that  subject,  and  with  a  gross  and  idle 
delight  follow  the  sacristan  down  under  the  church 
to  the  prison  of  Santa  Giustina. 

Of  all  the  faculties  of  the  mind  there  is  none  so 
little  fatiguing  to  exercise  as  mere  wonder ;  and  for 
my  own  sake,  I  try  always  to  wonder  at  things  with 
out  the  least  critical  reservation.  I  therefore,  in 
the  sense  of  deglutition,  bolted  this  prison  at  once, 


1 84  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

though  subsequent  experiences  led  me  to  look  with 
grave  indigestion  upon  the  whole  idea  of  prisons, 
their  authenticity,  and  even  their  existence. 

As  far  as  mere  dimensions  are  concerned,  the 
prison  of  Santa  Giustinawas  not  a  hard  one  to  swal 
low,  being  only  three  feet  wide  by  about  ten  feet  in 
length.  In  this  limited  space,  Santa  Giustina  passed 
five  years  of  the  reign  of  Nero  and  was  then  brought 
out  into  the  larger  cell  adjoining,  to  suffer  a  blessed 
martyrdom.  I  am  not  sure  now  whether  the  sacris 
tan  said  she  was  dashed  to  death  on  the  stones,  or 
cut  to  pieces  with  knives ;  but  whatever  the  form 
of  martyrdom,  an  iron  ring  in  the  ceiling  was  em 
ployed  in  it,  as  I  know  from  seeing  the  ring,  — 
a  curiously  well-preserved  piece  of  ironmongery. 
Within  the  narrow  prison  of  the  saint,  and  just 
under  the  grating,  through  which  the  sacristan  thrust 
his  candle  to  illuminate  it,  was  a  mountain  of  can 
dle-drippings, —  a  monument  to  the  fact  that  faith 
still  largely  exists  in  this  doubting  world.  My  own 
credulity,  not  only  with  regard  to  this  prison,  but 
also  touching  the  coffin  of  St.  Luke,  which  I  saw 
in  the  church,  had  so  wrought  upon  the  esteem  of 
the  sacristan  that  he  now  took  me  to. a  well,  into 
which,  he  said,  had  been  cast  the  bones  of  three 
thousand  Christian  martyrs.  He  lowered  a  lantern 
into  the  well,  and  assured  me  that,  if  I  looked  through 
a  certain  screenwork  there,  I  could  see  the  bones. 
On  experiment  I  could  not  see  the  bones,  but  this 
circumstance  did  not  cause  me  to  doubt  their  pre 
sence,  particularly  as  I  did  see  upon  the  screen  a 


I  ffeymvi  .•/.'' 


sa«£.:"i  Jrm^AU^tf  4-,' 

»«ooo?»c*««o; •;.  . ^jd'  .rT^'ft'     fc^ffJMa V-'f)j  i '  ^  - 

^^viRMpgryr^y^rs 


F*Sl*vifriS!fiSr 

feM-%  €f:i  ;h:SSf|. 

I'lliill  *   •     '         ,.'•    fcS'"  ::"',—,    _-_=•-'       •;•',". 


: 


CORNER  OF  THE   SALONE,  PADUA 


AT   PADUA  185 

great  number  of  coins  offered  for  the  repose  of  the 
martyrs'  souls.  I  threw  down  some  soldi,  and  thus 
enthralled  the  sacristan. 

If  the  signer  cared  to  see  prisons,  he  said,  the 
driver  must  take  him  to  those  of  Ecelino,  at  present 
the  property  of  a  private  gentleman  near  by.  As  I 
had  just  bought  a  history  of  Ecelino,  at  a  great  bar 
gain,  from  a  second-hand  book-stall,  and  had  a  lively 
interest  in  all  the  enormities  of  that  nobleman,  I 

sped  the  driver  instantly  to  the  villa  of  the  Signor 
p 

It  depends  here  altogether  upon  the  freshness  or 
mustiness  of  the  reader's  historical  reading  whether 
he  cares  to  be  reminded  more  particularly  who  Ece 
lino  was.  He  flourished  balefully  in  the  early  half 
of  the  thirteenth  century  as  lord  of  Vicenza,  Verona, 
Padua,  and  Brescia,  and  was  defeated  and  hurt  to 
death  in  an  attempt  to  possess  himself  of  Milan.  He 
was  in  every  respect  a  remarkable  man  for  that  time, 
—  fearless,  abstemious,  continent,  avaricious,  hardy, 
and  unspeakably  ambitious  and  cruel.  He  survived 
and  suppressed  innumerable  conspiracies,  escaping 
even  the  thrust  of  the  assassin  whom  the  fame  of 
his  enormous  wickedness  had  caused  the  Old  Man 
of  the  Mountain  to  send  against  him.  As  lord  of 
Padua  he  was  more  incredibly  severe  and  bloody  in 
his  rule  than  as  lord  of  the  other  cities,  for  the  Pa- 
duans  had  been  latest  free,  and  conspired  the  most 
frequently  against  him.  He  extirpated  whole  fami 
lies  on  suspicion  that  a  single  member  had  been  con 
cerned  in  a  meditated  revolt.  Little  children  and 


186  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

helpless  women  suffered  hideous  mutilation  and 
shame  at  his  hands.  Six  prisons  in  Padua  were 
constantly  filled  by  his  arrests.  The  whole  country 
was  traversed  by  witnesses  of  his  cruelties  —  men 
and  women  deprived  of  an  arm  or  leg,  and  begging 
from  door  to  door.  He  had  long  been  excommuni 
cated  ;  at  last  the  Church  proclaimed  a  crusade 
against  him,  and  his  lieutenant  and  nephew  —  more 
demoniacal,  if  possible,  than  himself — was  driven 
out  of  Padua  while  he  was  operating  against  Mantua. 
Ecelino  retired  to  Verona,  and  maintained  a  struggle 
against  the  crusade  for  nearly  two  years  longer,  with 
a  courage  which  never  failed  him.  Wounded  and 
taken  prisoner,  the  soldiers  of  the  victorious  army 
gathered  about  him,  and  heaped  insult  and  reproach 
upon  him  ;  and  one  furious  peasant,  whose  brother's 
feet  had  been  cut  off  by  Ecelino's  command,  dealt 
the  helpless  monster  four  blows  upon  the  head  with 
a  scythe.  By  some,  Ecelino  is  said  to  have  died  of 
these  wounds  alone  ;  but  by  others  it  is  related  that 
his  death  was  a  kind  of  suicide,  inasmuch  as  he  him 
self  put  the  case  past  surgery  by  tearing  off  the 
bandages  from  his  hurts,  and  refusing  all  medicines. 

ii 

ENTERING  at  the  enchanted  portal  of  the  Villa 

P ,  we  found  ourselves  in  a  realm  of  wonder. 

It  was  our  misfortune  not  to  see  the  magician  who 
compelled  all  the  marvels  on  which  we  looked,  but 
for  that  very  reason,  perhaps,  we  have  the  clearest 
sense  of  his  greatness.  Everywhere  we  beheld  the 


AT  PADUA  187 

evidences  of  his  ingenious  but  lugubrious  fancy, 
which  everywhere  tended  to  a  monumental  and  mor 
tuary  effect.  A  sort  of  vestibule  first  received  us, 
and  beyond  this  dripped  and  glimmered  the  garden. 
The  walls  of  the  vestibule  were  covered  with  inscrip 
tions  setting  forth  the  sentiments  of  the  philosophy 
and  piety  of  all  ages  concerning  life  and  death  ;  we 
began  with  Confucius,  and  we  ended  with  Benja- 
mino  Franklino.  But  as  if  these  ideas  of  mortality 
were  not  sufficiently  depressing,  the  funereal  Signer 

P had  collected  into  earthen  amphora  the  ashes 

of  the  most  famous  men  of  ancient  and  modern 
times,  and  arranged  them  so  that  a  sense  of  their 
number  -and  variety  should  at  once  strike  his  visitor. 
Each  jar  was  conspicuously  labeled  with  the  name 
its  illustrious  dust  had  borne  in  life ;  and  if  one 
escaped  with  comparative  cheerfulness  from  the 
thought  that  Seneca  had  died,  there  were  in  the 
very  next  pot  the  cinders  of  Napoleon  to  bully  him 
back  to  a  sense  of  his  mortality. 

We  were  glad  to  have  the  gloomy  fascination  of 
these  objects  broken  by  the  custodian,  who  ap 
proached  to  ask  if  we  wished  to  see  the  prisons  of 
Ecelino,  and  we  willingly  followed  him  into  the  rain 
out  of  our  sepulchral  shelter. 

Between  the  vestibule  and  the  towers  of  the  ty 
rant  lay  that  garden  already  mentioned,  and  our 
guide  led  us  through  ranks  of  weeping  statuary,  and 
rainy  bowers,  and  showery  lanes  of  shrubbery,  until 
we  reached  the  door  of  his  cottage.  While  he  en 
tered  to  fetch  the  key  to  the  prisons,  we  noted  that 


188  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

the  towers  were  freshly  painted  and  in  perfect  re- 
pair ;  and  indeed  the  custodian  said  frankly  enough, 
on  reappearing,  that  they  were  merely  built  over 
the  prisons  on  the  site  of  the  original  towers.  The 
storied  stream  of  the  Bacchiglione  sweeps  through 
the  grounds,  and  now,  swollen  by  the  rainfall,  it 
roared,  a  yellow  torrent,  under  a  corner  of  the  pris 
ons.  The  towers  rise  from  masses  of  foliage,  and 
form  no  unpleasing  feature  of  what  must  be,  in  spite 

of  Signer  P ,  a  delightful  Italian  garden  in  sunny 

weather.  The  ground  is  not  so  flat  as  elsewhere  in 
Padua,  and  this  inequality  gives  an  additional  pic- 
turesqueness  to  the  place.  But  as  we  were  come 
in  search  of  horrors,  we  scorned  these  merely  lovely 
things,  and  hastened  to  immure  ourselves  in  the 
dungeons  below.  The  custodian,  lighting  a  candle 
(which  ought,  we  felt,  to  have  been  a  torch),  went 
before. 

We  found  the  cells,  though  narrow  and  dark,  not 
uncomfortable,  and  the  guide  conceded  that  they 
had  undergone  some  repairs  since  Ecelino's  time. 
But  all  the  horrors  for  which  we  had  come  were 
there  in  perfect  grisliness,  and  labeled  by  the  in 
genious  Signor  P with  Latin  inscriptions. 

In  the  first  cell  was  a  shrine  of  the  Virgin,  set 
in  the  wall.  Beneath  this,  while  the  wretched 
prisoner  knelt  in  prayer,  a  trap-door  opened  and 
precipitated  him  upon  the  points  of  knives,  from 
which  his  body  fell  into  the  Bacchiglione  below. 
In  the  next  cell,  held  by  some  rusty  iron  rings  to 
the  wall,  was  a  skeleton,  hanging  by  the  wrists. 


AT   PADUA  189 

"This,"  said  the  guide,  "was  another  punish 
ment  of  which  Ecelino  was  very  fond." 

A  dreadful  doubt  seized  my  mind.  "Was  this 
skeleton  found  here  ?  "  I  demanded. 

Without  faltering  an  instant,  without  so  much  as 
winking  an  eye,  the  custodian  replied,  "  Appunto" 

It  was  a  great  relief,  and  restored  me  to  confi 
dence  in  the  establishment.  I  am  at  a  loss  to  ex 
plain  how  my  faith  should  have  been  confirmed 
afterwards  by  coming  upon  a  guillotine  —  an  awful 
instrument  in  the  likeness  of  a  straw-chopper,  with 
a  decapitated  wooden  figure  under  its  blade  — 
which  the  custodian  confessed  to  be  a  modern 

improvement  placed  there  by  Signor  P .  Yet 

my  credulity  was  so  strengthened  by  his  candor, 
that  I  accepted  without  hesitation  the  torture  of 
the  water-drop  when  we  came  to  it.  The  water-jar 
was  as  well  preserved  as  if  placed  there  but  yester 
day,  and  the  skeleton  beneath  it  —  found  as  we  saw 
it  —  was  entire  and  perfect. 

In  the  adjoining  cell  sat  a  skeleton — found  as 
we  saw  it  —  with  its  neck  in  the  clutch  of  the  gar- 
rote,  which  was  one  of  Ecelino's  more  merciful 
punishments  ;  while  in  still  another  cell  the  ferocity 
of  the  tyrant  appeared  in  the  penalty  inflicted  upon 
the  wretch  whose  skeleton  had  been  hanging  for 
ages  —  as  we  saw  it  —  head  downwards  from  the 
ceiling. 

Beyond  these,  in  a  yet  darker  and  drearier  dun 
geon,  stood  a  heavy  oblong  wooden  box,  with  two 
apertures  near  the  top,  peering  through  which  we 


ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

found  that  we  were  looking  into  the  eyeless  sockets 
of  a  skull.  Within  this  box  Ecelino  had  immured 
the  victim  we  beheld  there,  and  left  him  to  perish 
in  view  of  the  platters  of  food  and  goblets  of  drink 
placed  just  beyond  the  reach  of  his  hands.  The 
food  we  saw  was  of  course  not  the  original  food. 

At  last  we  came  to  the  crowning  horror  of  Villa 

P ,  the  supreme  excess  of  Ecelino's  cruelty. 

The  guide  entered  the  cell  before  us,  and,  as  we 
gained  the  threshold,  threw  the  light  of  his  taper 
vividly  upon  a  block  that  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor.  Fixed  to  the  block  by  an  immense  spike 
driven  through  from  the  back  was  the  little  slender 
hand  of  a  woman,  which  lay  there  just  as  it  had 
been  struck  from  the  living  arm,  and  which,  after 
the  lapse  of  so  many  centuries,  was  still  as  perfectly 
preserved  as  if  it  had  been  embalmed.  The  sight 
had  a  most  cruel  fascination  ;  and  while  one  of  the 
horror-seekers  stood  helplessly  conjuring  to  his 
vision  that  scene  of  unknown  dread,  —  the  shrink 
ing,  shrieking  woman  dragged  to  the  block,  the 
wild,  shrill,  horrible  screech  following  the  blow  that 
drove  in  the  spike,  the  merciful  swoon  after  the 
mutilation,  —  his  companion,  with  a  sudden  pallor, 
demanded  to  be  taken  instantly  away. 

In  their  swift  withdrawal,  they  only  glanced  at  a 
few  detached  instruments  of  torture,  —  all  original 
Ecelinos,  but  intended  for  the  infliction  of  minor 
and  comparatively  unimportant  torments,  —  and 
then  they  passed  from  that  place  of  fear. 


',Tji 


W  ^}1m 

HSWxt  •A,i-i/>-.  yiifji 


^m^mwm 

i.  Nf,i'8^«iM5l8fc 


,f-: 


CLOCK  TOWER,   PADUA 


AT   PADUA  191 

in 

IN  the  evening  we  sat  talking  at  the  Caffe  Pe- 
drocchi  with  an  abbate,  an  acquaintance  of  ours, 
who  was  a  professor  in  the  University  of  Padua. 
Pedrocchi's  is  the  great  caffe  of  Padua,  a  granite 
edifice  of  Egyptian  architecture,  which  is  the  mau 
soleum  of  the  proprietor's  fortune.  The  pecuniary 
skeleton  at  the  feast,  however,  does  not  much 
trouble  the  guests.  They  begin  early  in  the  even 
ing  to  gather  into  the  elegant  saloons  of  the  caffe, 

—  somewhat  too  large  for  so  small  a  city  as  Padua, 

—  and  they  sit  there  late  in  the  night  over  their 
cheerful  cups  and  their  ices,  with  their  newspapers 
and  their  talk.     Not  so  many  ladies  are  to  be  seen 
as  at  the  caffe  in  Venice,  for  it  is  only  in  the  greater 
cities  that  they  go  much  to  these  public  places. 
There  are  few  students  at  Pedrocchi's,  for  they  fre 
quent  the  cheaper  caffe  ;  but  you  may  nearly  always 
find  there  some  professor  of  the  University,  and  on 
the  evening  of  which  I  speak  there  were  two  present 
besides  our  abbate.    Our  friend's  great  passion  was 
the  English  language,  which  he  understood  too  well 
to  venture  to  speak  a  great  deal.     He  had  been 
translating  from  that  tongue  into    Italian    certain 
American  poems,  and  our  talk  was  of  these  at  first. 

At  last,  turning  from  literature,  we  spoke  with 
the  gentle  abbate  of  our  day's  adventures,  and 
eagerly  related  that  of  the  Ecelino  prisons.  To 
have  seen  them  was  the  most  terrific  pleasure  of 
our  lives. 


192  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

"  Eh  !  "  said  our  friend,  "  I  believe  you.* 

"  We  mean  those  under  the  Villa  P ." 

"Exactly." 

There  was  a  tone  of  politely  suppressed  amuse 
ment  in  the  abbate's  voice ;  and  after  a  moment's 
pause,  in  which  we  felt  our  awful  experience  slip 
ping  and  sliding  away  from  us,  we  ventured  to  say, 
"  You  don't  mean  that  those  are  not  the  veritable 
Ecelino  prisons  ? " 

"  Certainly  they  are  nothing  of  the  kind.  The 
Ecelino  prisons  were  destroyed  when  the  Crusad 
ers  took  Padua,  with  the  exception  of  the  tower, 
which  the  Venetian  Republic  converted  into  an  ob 
servatory." 

"  But  at  least  these  prisons  are  on  the  site  of 
Ecelino's  castle  ? " 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort.  His  castle  in  that  case 
would  have  been  outside  of  the  old  city  walls." 

"  And  those  tortures  and  the  prisons  are  all " 

"Things  got  up  for  show.  No  doubt,  Ecelino 
used  such  things,  and  many  worse,  of  which  even 
the  ingenuity  of  Signer  P —  -  cannot  conceive. 
But  he  is  an  eccentric  man,  loving  the  horrors  of 
history,  and  what  he  can  do  to  realize  them  he  has 
done  in  his  prisons." 

"  But  the  custodian  —  how  could  he  lie  so  ?  " 

Our  friend  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Eh  !  easily. 
And  perhaps  he  even  believed  what  he  said." 

The  world  began  to  assume  an  aspect  of  bewil 
dering  ungenuineness,  and  there  seemed  to  be  a 
treacherous  quality  of  fiction  in  the  ground  under 


AT   PADUA 


193 


our  feet.  Even  the  play  at  the  pretty  little  Teatro 
Sociale,  where  we  went  to  pass  the  rest  of  the  even 
ing,  appeared  hollow  and  improbable.  We  thought 
the  hero  something  of  a  bore,  with  his  patience 
and  goodness  ;  and  as  for  the  heroine,  pursued  by 
the  attentions  of  the  rich  profligate,  we  doubted  if 
she  were  any  better  than  she  should  be. 


PETRARCH'S    HOUSE 


A   PILGRIMAGE   TO    PETRARCH'S    HOUSE 
AT   ARQUA 


WE  said,  during  summer  days  at  Venice, 
when  every  campo  was  a  furnace  seven 
times  heated,  and  every  canal  was  filled  with  boiling 
bathers,  "As  soon  as  it  rains  we  will  go  to  Arqua." 
Remembering  the  ardors  of  an  April  sun  on  the 
long,  level  roads  of  plain,  we  could  not  think  of 
them  in  August  without  a  sense  of  dust  clogging 
every  pore,  and  eyes  that  shrank  from  the  vision  of 
their  blinding  whiteness.  So  we  stayed  in  Venice, 
waiting  for  rain,  until  the  summer  had  almost  lapsed 
into  autumn  ;  and  as  the  weather  cooled  before  any 
rain  reached  us,  we  took  the  moisture  on  the  main 
land  for  granted,  and  set  out  under  a  cloudy  and 
windy  sky. 


198  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

We  had  to  go  to  Padua  by  railway,  and  take  car 
riage  thence  to  Arqua  upon  the  road  to  Ferrara.  I 
believe  no  rule  of  human  experience  was  violated 
when  it  began  to  rain  directly  after  we  reached 
Padua,  and  continued  to  rain  violently  the  whole 
day.  We  gave  up  this  day  entirely  to  the  rain,  and 
did  not  leave  Padua  until  the  following  morning, 
when  we  count  that  our  pilgrimage  to  Petrarch's 
house  actually  began. 

The  rain  had  cooled  and  freshened  the  air,  but  it 
was  already  too  late  in  the  season  for  the  summer 
to  recover  herself  with  the  elastic  brilliancy  that 
follows  the  rain  of  July  or  early  August ;  and  there 
was  I  know  not  what  vague  sentiment  of  autumn 
in  the  weather.  There  was  not  yet  enough  of  it  to 
stir  the 

"  Tears  from  the  depth  of  some  divine  despair  ;  " 

but  in  here  and  there  a  faded  leaf  in  the  purple  of 
the  ripening  grapes,  and  in  the  tawny  grass  of  the 
pastures,  there  was  autumn  enough  to  touch  our 
spirits,  and,  while  it  hardly  affected  the  tone  of  the 
landscape,  to  lay  upon  us  the  gentle  and  pensive 
spell  of  its  presence.  Of  all  the  days  in  the  year  I 
would  have  chosen  this  to  go  pilgrim  to  the  house 
of  Petrarch. 

The  Euganean  Hills,  on  one  of  which  the  poet's 
house  is  built,  are  those  mellow  heights  which  you 
see  when  you  look  southwest  across  the  lagoon  at 
Venice.  In  misty  weather  they  are  blue,  and  in 
clear  weather  silver,  and  the  October  sunset  loves 


PETRARCH'S   HOUSE  199 

them.  They  rise  in  tender  azure  before  you  as  you 
issue  from  the  southern  gate  of  Padua,  and  grow  in 
loveliness  as  you  draw  nearer  to  them  from  the  rich 
plain  that  washes  their  feet  with  endless  harvests. 

Oh  beauty  that  will  not  let  itself  be  told !  Could 
I  not  take  warning  from  another,  and  refrain  from 
this  fruitless  effort  of  description  ?  A  friend  in 
Padua  had  lent  me  Disraeli's  "Venetia,"  because  a 
passage  of  the  story  occurs  in  Petrarch's  house  at 
Arqua,  and  we  carried  the  volumes  with  us  on  our 
pilgrimage.  I  would  here  quote  the  description  of 
the  village,  the  house,  and  the  hills  from  this  work, 
as  faultlessly  true,  and  as  affording  no  just  idea  of 
either  :  but  nothing  of  it  has  remained  in  my  mind 
except  the  geological  fact  that  the  hills  are  a  vol 
canic  range.  To  tell  the  truth,  the  landscape,  as 
we  rode  along,  continually  took  my  mind  off  the 
book,  and  I  could  not  give  that  attention,  either 
to  the  elegant  language  of  its  descriptions  or  the 
adventures  of  its  well-born  characters,  which  they 
deserved.  I  was  even  more  interested  in  the  dis 
reputable  looking  person  who  mounted  the  box 
beside  our  driver  as  soon  as  we  got  out  of  the  city 
gate,  and  who  invariably  commits  this  infringement 
upon  your  rights  in  Italy,  no  matter  how  strictly 
and  cunningly  you  frame  your  contract  that  no  one 
else  is  to  occupy  any  part  of  the  carriage  but  your 
self.  He  got  down,  in  this  instance,  just  before  we 
reached  the  little  town  at  which  our  driver  stopped, 
and  asked  us  if  we  wished  to  drink  a  glass  of  the 
wine  of  the  country.  We  did  not,  but  his  own 


200  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

thirst  seemed  to  answer  equally  well,  and  he  slaked 
it  cheerfully  at  our  cost. 

The  fields  did  not  present  the  busy  appearance 
which  had  delighted  us  on  the  same  road  in  the 
spring,  but  they  had  that  autumnal  charm  already 
mentioned.  Many  of  the  vine-leaves  were  sear  ; 
the  red  grapes  were  already  purple,  and  the  white 
grapes  pearly  ripe,  and  they  formed  a  gorgeous 
necklace  for  the  trees,  around  which  they  clung  in 
opulent  festoons.  Then,  dearer  to  our  American 
hearts  than  this  southern  splendor  were  the  russet 
fields  of  Indian  corn,  and,  scattered  among  the 
shrunken  stalks,  great  nuggets  of  the  "'harmless 
gold  "  of  pumpkins. 

At  Battaglia  (the  village  just  beyond  which  you 
turn  off  to  go  to  Arqua)  there  was  a  fair,  on  the 
blessed  occasion  of  some  saint's  day,  and  there  were 
many  booths  full  of  fruits,  agricultural  implements, 
toys,  clothes,  wooden  ware,  and  the  like.  There 
was  a  great  crowd  and  a  noise,  but,  according  to  the 
mysterious  Italian  custom,  nobody  seemed  to  be 
buying  or  selling.  I  am  in  the  belief  that  a  small 
purchase  of  grapes  we  made  here  on  our  return  was 
the  great  transaction  of  the  day,  unless,  indeed,  the 
neat  operation  in  alms  achieved  at  our  expense  by 
a  mendicant  villager  may  be  classed  commercially. 

When  we  turned  off  from  the  Rovigo  road  at 
Battaglia  we  were  only  three  miles  from  Arqua. 


PETRARCH'S    HOUSE  201 

ii 

Now,  all  the  way  from  this  turning  to  the  foot  of 
the  hill  on  which  the  village  was  stretched  asleep  in 
the  tender  sunshine,  there  was  on  either  side  of  the 
road  a  stream  of  living  water.  There  was  no  other 
barrier  than  this  between  the  road  and  the  fields 
(unless  the  vines  swinging  from  tree  to  tree  formed 
a  barrier),  and,  as  if  in  graceful  excuse  for  the  inter 
position  of  even  these  slender  streams,  Nature  had 
lavished  such  growth  of  wild  flowers  and  wild  ber 
ries  on  the  banks  that  it  was  like  a  garden  avenue, 
through  the  fragrance  and  beauty  of  which  we 
rolled,  delighted  to  silence,  almost  to  sadness. 

When  we  began  to  climb  the  hill  to  Arqua,  and 
the  driver  stopped  to  breathe  his  horse,  I  got  out 
and  finished  the  easy  ascent  on  foot.  The  great 
marvel  to  me  is  that  the  prospect  of  the  vast  plain 
below,  on  which,  turning  back,  I  feasted  my  vision, 
should  be  there  yet,  and  always.  It  had  the  rare 
and  melancholy  beauty  of  evanescence,  and  I  won 
der  did  Petrarch  walk  often  down  this  road  from 
his  house  just  above  ?  I  figured  him  coming  to 
meet  me  with  his  book  in  his  hand,  in  his  reverend 
poetic  robes,  and  with  his  laurel  on,  over  that  curi 
ous  kind  of  bandaging  which  he  seems  to  have  been 
fond  of  —  looking,  in  a  word,  for  all  the  world  like 
the  neuralgic  Petrarch  in  the  pictures. 

Drawing  nearer,  I  discerned  the  apparition  to  be 
a  robeless,  laurelless  lout,  who  belonged  at  the  vil 
lage  inn.  Yet  this  lout,  though  not  Petrarch,  had 


202  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

merits.  His  face  and  hands,  and  his  legs  as  seen 
from  his  knees  down,  were  richly  tanned ;  he  wore 
a  mountain  cap  with  a  long  tasseled  fall  to  the  back 
of  it ;  his  face  was  comely  and  his  eye  beautiful ; 
and  he  was  so  nobly  ignorant  of  everything,  that  a 
colt  or  young  bullock  could  not  have  been  better 
company.  He  merely  offered  to  guide  us  to  Pe 
trarch's  house,  and  was  silent,  except  when  spoken 
to,  from  that  instant. 

I  am  here  tempted  to  say  :  Arqua  is  in  the  figure 
of  a  man  stretched  upon  the  hillslope.  The  head, 
which  is  Petrarch's  house,  rests  upon  the  summit. 
The  carelessly  tossed  arms  lie  abroad  from  this  in 
one  direction,  and  the  legs  in  the  opposite  quarter. 
It  is  a  very  lank  and  shambling  figure,  without  ele 
gance  or  much  proportion  and  the  attitude  is  the 
last  wantonness  of  loafing.  We  followed  our  lout 
up  the  right  leg,  which  is  a  gentle  and  easy  ascent 
in  the  general  likeness  of  a  street.  World-old  stone 
cottages  crouch  on  either  side  ;  here  and  there  is  a 
more  ambitious  house  in  decay ;  trees  wave  over  the 
street,  and  down  its  distance  comes  an  occasional 
donkey-cart  very  musically  and  leisurely.  , 

We  reached  Petrarch's  house  before  the  custodian 
had  arrived  to  admit  us,  and  stood  before  the  high 
stone  wall  which  shuts  in  the  front  of  the  house, 
and  quite  hides  it  from  those  without.  This  wall 
bears  the  inscription,  Casa  Petrarca,  and  a  marble 
tablet  lettered  to  the  following  effect :  — 


PETRARCH'S   HOUSE  203 

SETI  AGITA 

SACRO  AMORE  DI  PATRIA, 

T'INCIIINA  A  QUESTE  MURA 

OVE  SPIRO  LA  GRAND'  AN  IMA, 

IL  CANTOR  DEI  SCIPIONI 

E  DI  LAURA. 

Which  may  be  translated  :  "  If  thou  art  stirred  by 
love  of  country,  bow  to  these  walls,  whence  passed 
the  great  soul,  the  singer  of  the  Scipios  and  of 
Laura." 

Meanwhile  we  became  the  centre  of  a  group  of 
the  youths  of  Arqua,  who  had  kindly  attended  our 
progress  in  gradually  increasing  numbers  from  the 
moment  we  had  entered  the  village.  They  were 
dear  little  girls  and  boys,  and  mountain  babies,  all 
with  sunburnt  faces  and  the  gentle  and  the  winning 
ways  native  to  this  race,  which  Nature  loves  better 
than  us  of  the  North.  The  blonde  pilgrim  seemed 
to  please  them,  and  they  evidently  took  us  for 
Tedeschi.  You  learn  to  submit  to  this  fate  in 
Northern  Italy,  however  ungracefully,  for  it  is  the 
one  that  constantly  befalls  you  outside  of  the  great 
est  cities.  The  people  know  but  two  varieties  of 
foreigners  —  the  Englishman  and  the  German.  If, 
therefore,  you  have  not  rosbif  expressed  in  every 
lineament  of  your  countenance,  you  must  resign 
yourself  to  be  a  German.  This  is  grievous  to  the 
soul  which  loves  to  spread  its  eagle  in  every  land 
and  to  be  known  as  American,  with  star-spangled 
conspicuousness  all  over  the  world  :  but  it  cannot 
be  helped.  I  vainly  tried  to  explain  the  geographi 
cal,  political,  and  natural  difference  between  Tede- 


204  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

schi  and  Americani  to  the  custodian  of  Petrarch's 
house.  She  listened  with  amiability,  shrugged  her 
shoulders  hopelessly,  and  said,  in  her  rude  Vene 
tian,  "Mi  no  so  miga  "  (I  don't  know  at  all). 

Before  she  came,  I  had  a  mind  to  prove  the  celeb 
rity  of  a  poet  on  the  spot  where  he  lived  and  died, 
—  on  his  very  hearthstone,  as  it  were.  So  I  asked 
the  lout,  who  stood  gnawing  a  stick  and  shifting 
his  weight  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  — 

"When  did  Petrarch  live  here  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  I  don't  remember  him." 

"  Who  was  he  ?  " 

"A  poet,  signer." 

Certainly  the  first  response  was  not  encouraging, 
but  the  last  revealed  that  even  to  the  heavy  and 
clouded  soul  of  this  lout  the  divine  fame  of  the  poet 
had  penetrated  —  and  he  a  lout  in  the  village  where 
Petrarch  lived  and  ought  to  be  first  forgotten.  He 
did  not  know  when  Petrarch  had  lived  there,  —  a 
year  ago,  perhaps,  or  many  centuries,  —  but  he  knew 
that  Petrarch  was  a  poet.  A  weight  of  doubt  was 
lifted  from  my  spirit,  and  I  responded  cheerfully  to 
some  observations  on  the  weather  offered  by  a  rustic 
matron  who  was  pitching  manure  on  the  little  hill- 
slope  near  the  house.  When  at  last  the  custodian 
came  and  opened  the  gate  to  us,  we  entered  a  little 
grassy  yard  from  which  a  flight  of  steps  led  to  Pe 
trarch's  door.  A  few  flowers  grew  wild  among  the 
grass,  and  a  fig-tree  leaned  its  boughs  against  the 
wall.  The  figs  on  it  were  green,  though  they  hung 
ripe  and  blackening  on  every  other  tree  in  Arqua. 


PETRARCH'S    HOUSE  205 

Some  ivy  clung  to  the  stones,  and  from  this  and  the 
fig-tree,  as  we  came  away,  we  plucked  memorial 
leaves,  and  blended  them  with  flowers  which  the 
youth  of  Arqua  picked  and  forced  upon  us  for  re 
membrance. 

A  quaint  old  door  opened  into  the  little  stone 
house,  and  admitted  us  to  a  kind  of  wide  passageway 
with  rooms  on  either  side  ;  and  at  the  end  opposite 
to  which  we  entered  another  door  opened  upon  a 
balcony.  From  this  balcony  we  looked  down  on  Pe 
trarch's  garden,  which,  presently  speaking,  is  but  a 
narrow  space  with  more  fruit  than  flowers  in  it.  Did 
Petrarch  use  to  sit  and  meditate  in  this  garden  ?  For 
me  I  should  better  have  liked  a  chair  on  the  balcony, 
with  the  further  and  lovelier  prospect  on  every  hand 
of  village-roofs,  sloping  hills  all  gray  with  olives, 
and  the  broad,  blue  Lombard  plain,  sweeping  from 
heaven  to  heaven  below. 

The  walls  of  the  passageway  are  frescoed  (now 
very  faintly)  in  illustration  of  the  loves  of  Petrarch 
and  Laura,  with  verses  from  the  sonnets  inscribed  to 
explain  the  illustrations.  In  all  these  Laura  prevails 
as  a  lady  of  a  singularly  long  waist  and  stiff  move 
ments,  and  Petrarch,  with  his  face  tied  up  and  a  lily 
in  his  hand,  contemplates  the  flower  in  mingled  bot 
any  and  toothache.  There  is  occasionally  a  startling 
literalness  in  the  way  the  painter  has  rendered  some 
of  the  verses.  I  remember  with  peculiar  interest 
the  illustration  of  a  lachrymose  passage  concern 
ing  a  river  of  tears,  wherein  the  weeping  Petrarch, 
stretched  beneath  a  tree,  had  already  started  a  small 


206  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

creek  of  tears,  which  was  rapidly  swelling  to  a  flood 
with  the  torrent  from  his  eyes.  I  attribute  these 
frescoes  to  a  later  date  than  that  of  the  poet's  resi 
dence,  but  the  portrait  over  the  door  of  the  bedroom 
inside  of  the  chamber  was  of  his  own  time,  and 
taken  from  him  —  the  custodian  said.  As  it  seemed 
to  look  like  all  the  Petrarchian  portraits,  I  did  not 
remark  it  closely,  but  rather  turned  my  attention  to 
the  walls  of  the  chamber,  which  were  thickly  over- 
scribbled  with  names.  They  were  nearly  all  Italian, 
and  none  English  so  far  as  I  saw.  This  passion  for 
allying  one's  self  to  the  great,  by  inscribing  one's 
name  on  places  hallowed  by  them,  is  certainly  very 
odd  ;  and  (I  reflected  as  I  added  our  names  to  the 
rest)  it  is,  without  doubt,  the  most  impertinent  and 
idiotic  custom  in  the  world.  People  have  thus  writ 
ten  themselves  down,  to  the  contempt  of  futurity, 
all  over  Petrarch's  house. 

The  custodian  insisted  that  the  bedroom  was  just 
as  in  the  poet's  time  ;  some  rooms  beyond  it  had 
been  restored ;  the  kitchen  at  its  side  was  also  re 
paired.  Crossing  the  passageway,  we  entered  the 
dining-room,  which  was  comparatively  large  and 
lofty,  with  a  generous  fireplace  at  one  end,  occupy 
ing  the  whole  space  left  by  a  balcony  window.  The 
floor  was  paved  with  tiles,  and  the  window-panes 
were  round  and  small,  and  set  in  lead  —  like  the 
floors  and  window-panes  of  all  the  other  rooms.  A 
fresco,  representing  some  indelicate  female  deity, 
adorned  the  front  of  the  fireplace,  which  sloped 
expanding  from  the  ceiling  and  terminated  at  the 


PETRARCH'S   HOUSE  207 

/ 

mouth  without  a  mantel  piece.  The  chimney  was 
deep,  and  told  of  the  cold  winters  in  the  hills,  of 
which,  afterward,  the  landlady  of  the  village  inn 
prattled  less  eloquently. 

From  this  dining-room  opens,  to  the  right,  the 
door  of  the  room  which  they  called  Petrarch's 
library ;  and  above  the  door,  set  in  a  marble  frame, 
with  a  glass  before  it,  is  all  that  is  mortal  of  Pe 
trarch's  cat,  except  the  hair.  Whether  or  not  the 
fur  was  found  incompatible  with  the  process  of  em 
balming,  and  therefore  removed,  or  whether  it  has 
slowly  dropped  away  with  the  lapse  of  centuries,  I 
do  not  know  ;  but  it  is  certain  the  cat  is  now  quite 
bald.  On  the  marble  slab  below  there  is  a  Latin 
inscription,  said  to  be  by  the  great  poet  himself, 
declaring  this  cat  to  have  been  "second  only  to 
Laura."  We  may  therefore  believe  its  virtues  to 
have  been  rare  enough  ;  and  cannot  well  figure  to 
ourselves  Petrarch  sitting  before  that  wide-mouthed 
fireplace,  without  beholding  also  the  gifted  cat  that 
purrs  softly  at  his  feet  and  nestles  on  his  knees,  or, 
with  thickened  tail  and  lifted  back,  parades  loftily 
round  his  chair  in  the  haughty  and  disdainful  man 
ner  of  cats. 

In  the  library,  protected  against  the  predatory 
enthusiasm  of  visitors  by  a  heavy  wire  netting,  are 
the  desk  and  chair  of  Petrarch,  which  I  know  of  no 
form  of  words  to  describe  perfectly.  The  front  of 
the  desk  is  of  a  kind  of  mosaic  in  cubes  of  wood, 
most  of  which  have  been  carried  away.  The  chair 
is  wide-armed  and  carved,  but  the  bottom  is  gone, 


208  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

and  it  has  been  rudely  repaired.  The  custodian 
said  Petrarch  died  in  this  chair  while  he  sat  writing 
at  his  desk  in  the  little  nook  lighted  by  a  single 
window  opening  on  the  left  from  his  library.  He 
loved  to  sit  there.  As  I  entered  I  found  he  had 
stepped  out  for  a  moment,  but  I  know  he  returned 
directly  after  I  withdrew. 

On  one  wall  of  the  library  (which  is  a  simple  ob 
long  room,  in  no  wise  remarkable)  was  a  copy  of 
verses  in  a  frame,  by  Cesarotti,  and  on  the  wall  op 
posite  a  tribute  from  Alfieri,  both  manu  propria. 
Over  and  above  these  are  many  other  scribblings  ; 
and  hanging  over  the  door  of  the  poet's  little  nook 
was  a  criminal  French  lithograph  likeness  of  "  Pe- 
trarque  "  when  young. 

Alfieri's  verses  are  written  in  ink  on  the  wall, 
while  those  of  Cesarotti  are  on  paper,  and  framed. 
I  do  not  remember  any  reference  to  his  visit  to  Pe 
trarch's  house  in  Alfieri's  autobiography,  though 
the  visit  must  have  taken  place  in  1783,  when  he 
sojourned  at  Padua,  and  "made  the  acquaintance 
of  the  celebrated  Cesarotti,  with  whose  lively  and 
courteous  manners  he  was  no  less  satisfied  than  he 
had  always  been  in  reading  his  (Cesarotti's)  most 
masterly  version  of  '  Ossian.'  '  It  is  probable  that 
the  friends  visited  the  house  together.  At  any  rate, 
I  care  to  believe  that  while  Cesarotti  sat  "  compos 
ing  "  his  tribute  comfortably  at  the  table,  Alfieri's 
impetuous  soul  was  lifting  his  tall  body  on  tiptoe  to 
scrawl  its  inspirations  on  the  plastering. 

After  copying  these  verses  we  returned  to  the 


PETRARCH'S   HOUSE  209 

dining-room,  and  while  one  pilgrim  strayed  idly 
through  the  names  in  the  visitor's  book,  the  other 
sketched  Petrarch's  cat,  before  mentioned,  and  Pe 
trarch's  inkstand  of  bronze.  Thus  sketching  and 
idling,  we  held  spell-bound  our  friends  the  youth  of 
Arqua,  as  well  as  our  driver,  who,  having  brought 
innumerable  people  to  see  the  house  of  Petrarch, 
now  for  the  first  time,  with  great  astonishment,  be 
held  the  inside  of  it  himself. 

As  to  the  authenticity  of  the  house  I  think  there 
can  be  no  doubt,  and  as  to  the  genuineness  of  the 
relics  there,  nothing  in  the  world  could  shake  my 
faith  in  them,  though  Muratori  certainly  character 
izes  them  as  "superstitions."  The  great  poet  was 
sixty-five  years  old  when  he  came  to  rest  at  Arqua, 
and  when,  in  his  own  pathetic  words,  "  there  re 
mained  to  him  only  to  consider  and  to  desire  how  to 
make  a  good  end."  He  says  further,  at  the  close 
of  his  autobiography  :  "  In  one  of  the  Euganean 
hills,  near  to  ten  miles  from  the  city  of  Padua,  I 
have  built  me  a  house,  small  but  pleasant  and  de 
cent,  in  the  midst  of  slopes  clothed  with  vines  and 
olives,  abundantly  sufficient  for  a  family  not  large 
and  discreet.  Here  I  lead  my  life,  and  although, 
as  I  have  said,  infirm  of  body,  yet  tranquil  of  mind, 
without  excitements,  without  distractions,  without 
cares,  reading  always,  and  writing  and  praising  God, 
and  thanking  God  as  well  for  evil  as  for  good  ; 
which  evil,  if  I  err  not,  is  trial  merely  and  not 
punishment.  And  all  the  while  I  pray  to  Christ 
that  he  make  good  the  end  of  my  life,  and  have 


210  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

mercy  on  me,  and  forgive  me,  and  even  forget  my 
youthful  sins  ;  wherefore,  in  this  solitude,  no  words 
are  so  sweet  to  my  lips  as  these  of  the  psalm  : 
1 D dicta  juventutis  mea,  et  ignorantias  mcas  nc 
memineris'  And  with  every  feeling  of  the  heart 
I  pray  God,  when  it  please  Him,  to  bridle  my 
thoughts,  so  long  unstable  and  erring ;  and  as  they 
have  vainly  wandered  to  many  things,  to  turn  them 
all  to  Him  —  only  true,  certain  immutable  Good." 

I  venerate  the  house  at  Arqua  because  these 
sweet  and  solemn  words  were  written  in  it.  We 
left  its  revered  shelter  (after  taking  a  final  look 
from  the  balcony  down  upon  "the  slopes  clothed 
with  vines  and  olives")  and  returned  to  the  lower 
village,  where,  in  the  court  of  the  little  church,  we 
saw  the  tomb  of  Petrarch  —  "  an  ark  of  red  stone, 
upon  four  columns  likewise  of  marble."  The  epi 
taph  is  this  :  — 

"  Frigida  Francisci  lapis  hie  tegit  ossa  Petrarcae ; 
Suscipe,  Virgo  parens,  animam;  sate  Virgine,  parce 
Fessaque  jam  terris  Coeli  requiescat  in  arce." 

A  head  of  the  poet  in  bronze  surmounts  the  ark. 
The  housekeeper  of  the  parish  priest,  who  ran  out 
to  enjoy  my  admiration  and  bounty,  told  me  a  wild 
local  tradition  of  an  attempt  on  the  part  of  the 
Florentines  to  steal  the  bones  of  Petrarch  away 
from  Arqua,  in  proof  of  which  she  showed  me  a 
block  of  marble  set  into  the  ark,  whence  she  said 
a  fragment  had  been  removed  by  the  Florentines. 
This  local  tradition  I  afterwards  found  verified, 
with  names  and  dates,  in  a  little  "Life  of  Petrarch," 


PETRARCH'S   HOUSE  211 

by  F.  Leoni,  published  at  Padua  in  1843.  It  aP- 
pears  that  this  curious  attempt  of  the  Florentines 
to  do  doubtful  honor  to  the  great  citizen  whose 
hereditary  civic  rights  they  restored  too  late  (about 
the  time  he  was  drawing  nigh  his  "good  end"  at 
Arqua),  was  made  for  them  by  a  certain  monk  of 
Portagruaro  named  Tommaso  Martinelli.  He  had 
a  general  instruction  from  his  employers  to  bring 
away  from  Arqua  "  any  important  thing  of  Pe 
trarch's  "  that  he  could  ;  and  it  occurred  to  this  ill- 
advised  friar  to  "move  his  bones."  He  succeeded 
on  a  night  of  the  year  1630  in  stealing  the  dead 
poet's  arm.  The  theft  being  at  once  discovered, 
the  Venetian  Republic  rested  not  till  the  thief  was 
also  discovered ;  but  what  became  of  the  arm  or  of 
the  sacrilegious  monk  neither  the  Signor  Leoni  nor 
the  old  women  of  Arqua  give  any  account.  The 
Republic  removed  the  rest  of  Petrarch's  body, 
which  is  now  said  to  be  in  the  Royal  Museum  of 
Madrid. 

I  was  willing  to  know  more  of  this  quaint  village 
of  Arqua,  and  I  rang  at  the  parish  priest's  door  to 
beg  of  him  some  account  of  the  place,  if  any  were 
printed.  But  already  at  one  o'clock  he  had  gone  to 
bed  for  a  nap,  and  must  on  no  account  be  roused  till 
four.  It  is  but  a  quiet  life  men  lead  in  Arqua,  and 
their  souls  are  in  drowsy  hands.  The  amount  of  sleep 
which  this  good  man  gives  himself  (if  he  goes  to 
bed  at  9  P.  M.  and  rises  at  9  A.  M.,  with  a  nap  of  three 
hours  during  the  day)  speaks  of  a  quiet  conscience, 
a  good  digestion,  and  uneventful  days.  As  I  turned 


212  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

this  notion  over  in  my  mind,  my  longing  to  behold 
his  reverence  increased,  that  I  might  read  life  at 
Arqua  in  the  smooth  curves  of  his  well-padded  coun 
tenance. 

Ought  I  to  say  here  that,  on  the  occasion  of  a  sec 
ond  visit  to  Arqua,  I  succeeded  in  finding  this  excel 
lent  ecclesiastic  wide  awake  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  and  that  he  granted  me  an  interview  at 
that  hour  ?  Justice  to  him,  I  think,  demands  this 
admission  of  me.  He  was  not  at  all  a  fat  priest,  as 
I  had  prefigured  him,  but  rather  of  a  spare  person, 
and  of  a  brisk  and  lively  manner.  At  the  village 
inn,  after  listening  half  an  hour  to  a  discourse  on 
nothing  but  white  wine  from  a  young  priest,  who 
had  stopped  to  drink  a  glass  of  it,  I  was  put  in  the 
way  of  seeing  the  priest  of  Arqua  by  his  courtesy. 
Happily  enough,  his  reverence  chanced  to  have  the 
very  thing  I  wanted  to  see  —  no  other  than  Leoni's 
"  Life  of  Petrarch,"  to  which  I  have  already  referred. 
Courtesy  is  the  blood  in  an  Italian's  veins,  and  I 
need  not  say  that  the  ecclesiastic  of  Arqua,  seeing 
my  interest  in  the  place,  was  very  polite  and  obliging. 
But  he  continued  to  sleep  throughout  our  first  stay 
in  Arqua,  and  I  did  not  see  him  then. 

I  strolled  up  and  down  the  lazy,  rambling  streets, 
and  chiefly  devoted  myself  to  watching  the  young 
women  who  were  washing  clothes  at  the  stream  run 
ning  from  the  "  Fountain  of  Petrarch."  Their  arms 
and  legs  were  bronzed  and  bare,  and  they  chattered 
and  laughed  gayly  at  their  work.  Their  wash-tubs 
were  formed  by  a  long  marble  conduit  from  the  foun- 


•p-     V  .»'  \ 

IS  v-- 


^ 


PETRARCH'S   HOUSE  213 

tain  ;  their  wash-boards,  by  the  inward-sloping  con 
duit-sides  ;  and  they  thrashed  and  beat  the  garments 
clean  upon  the  smooth  stone.  To  a  girl,  their  waists 
were  broad  and  their  ankles  thick.  Above  their 
foreheads  the  hair  was  cut  short,  and  their  "  back 
hair  "  was  gathered  into  a  mass,  and  held  together 
by  a  converging  circle  of  silver  pins.  The  Piazza 
della  Fontana,  in  Arqua,  is  a  place  some  fifty  feet 
in  length  and  breadth,  and  seems  to  be  a  favorite 
place  of  public  resort.  In  the  evening,  doubtless, 
it  is  alive  with  gossipers,  as  now  with  workers.  It 
may  be  that  then  his  reverence,  risen  from  his  nap, 
saunters  by,  and  pauses  long  enough  to  chuck  a 
pretty  girl  under  the  chin  or  pinch  an  urchin's 
cheek. 

in 

RETURNING,  we  stopped  at  the  great  castle  of  the 
Obizzi  (now  the  property  of  the  Duke  of  Modena), 
through  which  we  were  conducted  by  a  surly  and 
humorous  custode,  whose  pride  in  life  was  that  castle 
and  its  treasures,  so  that  he  resented  as  a  personal 
affront  the  slightest  interest  in  anything  else.  He 
stopped  us  abruptly  in  the  midst  of  the  museum, 
and,  regarding  the  precious  antiques  and  curiosities 
around  him,  demanded,  — 

"  Does  this  castle  please  you  ?  "  Then,  with  a 
scornful  glance  at  us,  "  Your  driver  tells  me  you 
have  been  at  Arqua  ?  And  what  did  you  see  at 
Arqua  ?  A  shabby  little  house  and  a  cat  without 
any  hair  on.  I  would  not,"  said  this  disdainful  cus 
tode,  "go  to  Arqua  if  you  gave  me  a  lemonade." 


THE   CIMBRI 


A  VISIT   TO   THE    CIMBRI 

I  HAD  often  heard  in  Venice  of  that  ancient  peo 
ple,  settled  in  the  Alpine  hills  about  the  pretty 
town  of  Bassano,  on  the  Brenta,  whom  common  fame 
declares  to  be  a  remnant  of  the  Cimbrian  invaders  of 
Rome,  broken  up  in  battle,  and  dispersed  along  the 
borders  of  North  Italy,  by  Marius,  many  centuries 
ago.  '  So  once,  when  the  soft  September  weather 
came,  we  sallied  out  of  Venice,  in  three,  to  make 
conquest  of  whatever  was  curious  in  the  life  and  tra 
ditions  of  these  mountaineers,  who  dwell  in  seven 
villages,  and  are  therefore  called  the  people  of  the 
Sette  Communi  among  their  Italian  neighbors.  We 
went  fully  armed  with  note-book  and  sketch-book, 
and  prepared  to  take  literary  possession  of  our  con 
quest. 


218  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

From  Venice  to  the  city  of  Vicenza  by  railroad 
it  is  two  hours  ;  and  thence  one  must  take  a  carriage 
to  Bassano  (which  is  an  opulent  and  busy  little  grain 
mart,  of  some  twelve  thousand  souls,  about  thirty 
miles  north  of  Venice).  We  were  very  glad  of  the 
ride  across  the  country.  By  the  time  we  reached 
the  town  it  was  nine  o'clock,  and  moonlight,  and  as 
we  glanced  out  of  our  windows  we  saw  the  quaint 
up-and-down-hill  streets  peopled  with  promenaders, 
and  everybody  in  Bassano  seemed  to  be  making 
love.  Young  girls  strolled  about  the  picturesque 
ways  with  their  lovers,  and  tender  couples  were 
cooing  at  the  doorways  and  windows,  and  the  scene 
had  all  that  surface  of  romance  with  which  the  Ital 
ians  contrive  to  varnish  the  real  commonplaceness 
of  life.  Our  drive  through  the  twilight  landscape 
had  prepared  us  for  the  sentiment  of  Bassano ;  we 
had  pleased  ourselves  with  the  spectacle  of  the  peas 
ants  returning  from  their  labor  in  the  fields,  led  in 
troops  of  eight  or  ten  by  stalwart,  white-teethed  bare 
legged  maids ;  and  we  had  reveled  in  the  momen 
tary  lordship  of  an  old  walled  town  we  passed,  which 
at  dusk  seemed  more  Gothic  and  Middle-Age  than 
anything  after  Verona,  with  a  fine  church,  and  tur 
rets  and  battlements  in  great  plenty.  What  town 
it  was,  or  what  it  had  been  doing  there  so  many  ages, 
I  have  never  sought  to  know,  and  I  should  be  sorry 
to  learn  anything  about  it. 

The  next  morning  we  began  those  researches 
for  preliminary  information  concerning  the  Cimbri 
which  turned  out  so  vain.  Indeed,  as  we  drew  near 


p  ?riB. 

f-          if-  <••       ,    -•   ,;<i!? 


||jfv  IP1 

»2f 
;'  "t  ^      -# 


THE  BRENTA  AT  BASSANO 


THE   CIMBRI  219 

ic  lurking-places  of  that  ancient  people,  all  know- 
jdge  relating  to  them  diffused  itself  into  shadowy 
conjecture.  The  barber  and  the  bookseller  differed 
as  to  the  best  means  of  getting  to  the  Sette  Com- 
muni,  and  the  caffetiere  at  whose  place  we  took 
breakfast  knew  nothing  at  all  of  the  road,  except 
that  it  was  up  the  mountains,  and  commanded  views 
of  scenery  which,  verily,  it  would  not  grieve  us  to 
see.  As  to  the  Cimbri,  he  only  knew  that  they  had 
their  own  language,  which  was  yet  harder  than  the 
German.  The  German  was  hard  enough,  but  the 
Cimbrian !  Corpo  ! 

At  last,  hearing  of  a  famous  cave  there  is  at  Oli- 
ero,  a  town  some  miles  farther  up  the  Brenta,  we. 
determined  to  go  there,  and  it  was  a  fortunate 
thought,  for  there  we  found  a  nobleman  in  charge 
of  the  cave  who  told  us  exactly  how  to  reach  the 
Sette  Communi.  You  pass  a  bridge  to  get  out  of 
Bassano  —  a  bridge  which  spans  the  crystal  swift 
ness  of  the  Brenta,  rushing  down  to  the  Adriatic 
from  the  feet  of  the  Alps  on  the  north,  and  full 
of  voluble  mills  at  Bassano.  All  along  the  road  to 
Oliero  was  the  finest  mountain  scenery,  Brenta- 
washed,  and  picturesque  with  ever-changing  lines. 
Maize  grows  in  the  bottom-lands,  and  tobacco,  which 
is  guarded  in  the  fields  by  soldiers  for  the  monopo 
list  government.  Farmhouses  dot  the  valley,  and 
now  and  then  we  passed  villages,  abounding  in 
blonde  girls,  so  rare  elsewhere  in  Italy,  but  here  so 
numerous  as  to  give  Titian  that  type  from  which  he 
painted. 


220  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

At  Oliero  we  learned  not  only  which  was  the 
road  to  the  Sette  Communi,  but  that  we  were  in  it, 
and  it  was  settled  that  we  should  come  the  next  day 
and  continue  in  it,  with  the  custodian  of  the  cave, 
who  for  his  breakfast  and  dinner,  and  what  else  we 
pleased,  offered  to  accompany  us.  We  were  early 
at  Oliero  on  the  following  morning,  and  found  our 
friend  in  waiting;  he  mounted  beside  our  driver, 
and  we  rode  up  the  Brenta  to  the  town  of  Valstagna 
where  our  journey  by  wheels  ended,  and  where  we 
were  to  take  mules  for  the  mountain  ascent.  Our 
guide,  Count  Giovanni  Bonato  (for  I  may  as  well 
give  him  his  title,  though  at  this  stage  of  our  pro 
gress  we  did  not  know  into  what  patrician  care  we 
had  fallen),  had  already  told  us  what  the  charge  for 
mules  would  be,  but  it  was  necessary  to  go  through 
the  ceremony  of  bargain  with  the  muleteer  before 
taking  the  beasts.  Their  owner  was  a  Cimbrian, 
with  a  broad  sheepish  face,  and  a  heavy,  awkward 
accent  of  Italian  which  at  once  more  marked  his 
northern  race,  and  made  us  feel  comparatively  se 
cure  from  plunder  in  his  hands.  He  had  come  down 
from  the  mountain  top  the  night  before,  bringing 
three  mules  laden  with  charcoal,  and  he  had  waited 
for  us  till  the  morning.  His  beasts  were  furnished 
with  comfortable  pads,  covered  with  linen,  to  ride 
upon,  and  with  halters  instead  of  bridles,  and  we 
were  prayed  to  let  them  have  their  heads  in  the 
ascent,  and  not  to  try  to  guide  them. 

The  leisure  of  Valstagna  (and  in  an  Italian  town 
nearly  the  whole  population  is  at  leisure)  turned 


THE   CIMBRI  221 

out  to  witness  the  departure  of  our  expedition  ;  the 
pretty  little  blonde  wife  of  our  innkeeper,  who  was 
to  get  dinner  ready  against  our  return,  held  up  her 
baby  to  wish  us  buon  viaggio,  and  waved  us  adieu 
with  the  infant  as  with  a  handkerchief ;  the  chickens 
and  children  scattered  to  right  and  left  before  our 
advance  ;  and  with  Count  Giovanni  going  splendidly 
ahead  on  foot,  and  the  Cimbrian  bringing  up  the 
rear,  we  struck  on  the  broad  rocky  valley  between 
the  heights,  and  presently  began  the  ascent.  It 
was  a  lovely  morning ;  the  sun  was  on  the  heads  of 
the  hills,  and  the  shadows  clothed  them  like  robes 
to  their  feet ;  and  I  should  be  glad  to  feel  here  and 
now  the  sweetness,  freshness,  and  purity  of  the 
mountain  air,  that  seemed  to  bathe  our  souls  in  a 
childlike  delight  of  life.  A  noisy  brook  gurgled 
through  the  valley  ;  the  birds  sang  from  the  trees ; 
the  Alps  rose,  crest  on  crest,  around  us  ;  and  soft 
before  us,  among  the  bald  peaks,  showed  the  wooded 
height  where  the  Cimbrian  village  of  Fozza  stood, 
with  a  white  chapel  gleaming  from  the  heart  of  the 
lofty  grove.  Along  the  mountain  sides  the  smoke 
curled  from  the  lonely  huts  of  shepherds,  and  now 
and  then  we  came  upon  one  of  those  melancholy 
refuges  which  are  built  in  the  hills  for  such  travel 
ers  as  are  belated  in  their  ways,  or  are  overtaken 
there  by  storms. 

The  road  for  the  most  part  winds  by  the  brink 
of  precipices,  —  walled  in  with  masonry  of  small 
stones,  where  Nature  has  not  shored  it  up  with  vast 
monoliths,  —  and  is  paved  with  limestone.  It  is,  of 


222  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

course,  merely  a  mule-path,  and  it  was  curious  to 
see,  and  thrilling  to  experience,  how  the  mules,  vain 
of  the  safety  of  their  foothold,  kept  as  near  the 
border  of  the  precipices  as  possible.  For  my  own 
part,  I  abandoned  to  my  beast  the  entire  responsi 
bility  involved  by  this  line  of  conduct ;  let  the  halter 
hang  loose  upon  his  neck,  and  gave  him  no  aid  ex 
cept  such  slight  service  as  was  occasionally  to  be 
rendered  by  shutting  my  eyes  and  holding  my 
breath.  The  mule  of  the  fairer  traveler  behind  me 
was  not  only  ambitious  of  peril  like  my  own,  but 
was  envious  of  my  beast's  captaincy,  and  continu 
ally  tried  to  pass  him  on  the  outside  of  the  path, 
to  the  great  dismay  of  the  gentle  rider  ;  while  half- 
suppressed  wails  of  terror  from  the  second  lady  in 
the  train  gave  evidence  of  equal  vanity  and  daring 
in  her  mule.  Count  Giovanni  strode  stolidly  before, 
the  Cimbrian  came  behind,  and  we  had  little  coher 
ent  conversation  until  we  stopped  under  a  spreading 
haw-tree,  half  way  up  the  mountain,  to  breathe  our 
adventurous  beasts. 

Here  two  of  us  dismounted,  and  while  one  of  the 
ladies  sketched  the  other  in  her  novel  attitude  of 
cavalier,  I  listened  to  the  talk  of  Count  Giovanni 
and  the  Cimbrian.  This  Cimbrian's  name  in  Italian 
was  Lazzaretti,  and  in  his  own  tongue  Briick,  which, 
pronouncing  less  regularly,  we  made  Brick,  in  com 
pliment  to  his  qualities  of  good  fellowship.  His 
broad,  honest  visage  was  bordered  by  a  hedge  of 
red  beard,  and  a  light  of  dry  humor  shone  upon  it : 
he  looked,  we  thought,  like  a  Cornishman,  and  the 


THE   CIMBRI  223 

contrast  between  him  and  the  viso  sciolto,  pensieri 
stretti  expression  of  Count  Giovanni  was  curious 
enough.  Concerning  his  people,  he  knew  little  ; 
but  the  Capo-gente  of  Fozza  could  tell  me  every 
thing.  Various  traditions  of  their  origin  were  be 
lieved  among  them  ;  Brick  himself  held  to  one  that 
they  had  first  come  from  Denmark. 

There  was  a  poor  little  house  of  refreshment  be 
side  our  spreading  haw,  and  a  withered  old  woman 
came  out  of  it  and  refreshed  us  with  clear  spring 
water,  and  our  guides  and  friends  with  some  bitter 
berries  of  the  mountain,  which  they  admitted  were 
unpleasant  to  the  taste,  but  declared  were  very  good 
for  the  blood.  When  they  had  sufficiently  improved 
their  blood,  we  mounted  our  mules  again,  and  set 
out  with  the  journey  of  an  hour  and  a  quarter  still 
between  us  and  Fozza. 

As  we  drew  near  the  summit  of  the  mountain  our 
road  grew  more  level,  and  instead  of  creeping  along 
by  the  brinks  of  precipices,  we  began  to  wind 
through  bits  of  meadow  and  pleasant  valley  walled 
in  by  lofty  heights  of  rock. 

Though  September  was  bland  as  June  at  the  foot 
of  the  mountain,  we  found  its  breath  harsh  and  cold 
on  these  heights ;  and  we  remarked  that  though 
there  were  here  and  there  breadths  of  wheat,  the 
land  was  for  the  most  part  in  sheep  pasturage,  and 
the  grass  looked  poor  and  stinted  of  summer 
warmth.  We  met,  at  times,  the  shepherds,  who 
seemed  to  be  of  Italian  race,  and  were  of  the  con 
ventional  type  of  shepherds,  with  regular  faces,  and 


224  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

two  elaborate  curls  trained  upon  their  cheeks,  as 
shepherds  are  always  represented  in  stone  over  the 
gates  of  villas.  They  bore  staves,  and  their  flocks 
went  before  them.  Encountering  us,  they  saluted 
us  courteously,  and  when  we  had  returned  their 
greeting,  they  cried  with  one  voice :  "  Ah,  lords ! 
is  not  this  a  miserable  country  ?  The  people  are 
poor  and  the  air  is  cold.  It  is  an  unhappy  land  !  " 
And  so  passed  on,  profoundly  sad ;  but  we  could 
not  help  smiling  at  the  vehement  popular  desire  to 
have  the  region  abused.  We  answered  cheerfully 
that  it  was  a  lovely  country.  If  the  air  was  cold, 
it  was  also  pure. 

We  now  drew  in  sight  of  Fozza,  and,  at  the  last 
moment,  just  before  parting  with  Brick,  we  learned 
that  he  had  passed  a  whole  year  in  Venice,  where 
he  brought  milk  from  the  mainland  and  sold  it  in 
the  city.  He  declared  frankly  that  he  counted  that 
year  worth  all  the  other  years  of  his  life,  and  that  he 
would  never  have  come  back  to  his  native  heights 
but  that  his  father  had  died,  and  left  his  mother  and 
young  brothers  helpless.  He  was  an  honest  soul, 
and  I  gave  him  two  florins,  which  I  had  tacitly  ap 
pointed  him  over  and  above  the  bargain,  with  some 
thing  for  the  small  Brick-bats  at  home,  whom  he 
presently  brought  to  kiss  our  hands  at  the  house  of 
the  Capo-gente. 

The  village  of  Fozza  is  built  on  a  grassy,  oblong 
plain  on  the  crest  of  the  mountain,  which  declines 
from  it  on  three  sides,  and  on  the  north  rises  high 
above  it  into  the  mists  in  bleaker  and  ruggeder 


THE   CIMBRI  225 

acclivities.  There  are  not  more  than  thirty  houses 
in  the  village,  and  I  do  not  think  it  numbers  more 
than  a  hundred  and  fifty  souls,  if  so  many.  Indeed, 
it  is  one  of  the  smallest  of  the  Sette  Communi,  of 
which  the  capital,  Asiago,  contains  some  thousands 
of  people,  and  lies  not  far  from  Vicenza.  The  poor 
Fozzatti  had  a  church,  however,  in  their  village,  in 
spite  of  its  littleness,  and  they  had  just  completed 
a  fine  new  bell-tower,  which  the  Capo-gente  de 
plored,  and  was  proud  of  when  I  praised  it.  The 
church,  like  all  the  other  edifices,  was  built  of 
stone  ;  and  the  village  at  a  little  distance  might  look 
like  broken  crags  of  rock,  so  well  it  consorted  with 
the  harsh,  crude  nature  about  it.  Meagre  meadow- 
lands,  pathetic  with  tufts  of  a  certain  pale  blue,  tear 
ful  flower,  stretched  about  the  village  and  south 
ward  as  far  as  to  that  wooded  point  which  had  all 
day  been  our  landmark  in  the  ascent. 

Our  train  drew  up  at  the  humble  door  of  the 
Capo-gente  (in  Fozza  all  doors  are  alike  humble), 
and,  leaving  our  mules,  we  entered  by  his  wife's 
invitation,  and  seated  ourselves  near  the  welcome 
fire  of  the  kitchen  —  welcome,  though  we  knew 
that  all  the  sunny  Lombard  plain  below  was  purple 
with  grapes  and  black  with  figs.  Again  came  from 
the  women  here  the  wail  of  the  shepherds  :  "  Ah, 
lords  !  is  it  not  a  miserable  land  ?  "  and  I  began  to 
doubt  whether  the  love  which  I  had  heard  moun 
taineers  bore  to  their  inclement  heights  was  not  alto 
gether  fabulous.  They  made  haste  to  boil  us  some 
eggs,  and  set  them  before  us  with  some  unhappy 


226  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

wine,  and  while  we  were  eating,  the  Capo-gente 
came  in. 

He  was  a  very  well-mannered  person,  but  had 
the  bashfulness  naturally  resulting  from  his  lonely 
life  at  that  altitude,  where  contact  with  the  world 
must  be  infrequent.  His  fellow-citizens  seemed  to 
regard  him  with  a  kind  of  affectionate  deference, 
and  some  of  them  came  in  to  hear  him  talk  with 
the  strangers.  He  stood  till  we  prayed  him  to  sit 
down,  and  he  presently  consented  to  take  some 
wine  with  us. 

After  all,  however,  he  could  not  tell  us  much  of 
his  people  which  we  had  not  heard  before.  A  tradi 
tion  existed  among  them,  he  said,  that  their  ances 
tors  had  fled  to  these  Alps  from  Marius,  and  that 
they  had  dwelt  for  a  long  time  in  the  hollows  and 
caves  of  the  mountains,  living  and  burying  their 
dead  in  the  same  secret  places.  At  what  time  they 
had  been  converted  to  Christianity  he  could  not 
tell ;  they  had,  up  to  the  beginning  of  the  present 
century,  had  little  or  no  intercourse  with  the  Italian 
population  by  which  they  were  surrounded  on  all 
sides.  Formerly,  they  did  not  intermarry  with  that 
race,  and  it  was  seldom  that  any  Cimbrian  knew  its 
language.  But  now  intermarjiage  is  very  frequent ; 
both  Italian  and  Cimbrian  are  spoken  in  nearly  all 
the  families,  and  the  Cimbrian  is  gradually  falling 
into  disuse.  They  still,  however,  have  books  of 
religious  instruction  in  their  ancient  dialect,  and 
until  very  lately  the  services  of  their  church  were 
performed  in  Cimbrian, 


THE   CIMBRI  227 

I  begged  the  Capo  to  show  us  some  of  their 
books,  and  he  brought  us  two,  —  one  a  catechism 
for  children,  entitled  "  Dar  Kloane  Catechism  vorn 
Beloseland  vortraghet  in  z'  gaprecht  von  siben 
Komiinen,  un  vier  Halghe  Gasang.  1842.  Padova." 
The  other  book  it  grieved  me  to  see,  for  it  proved 
that  I  was  not  the  only  one  tempted  in  recent  times 
to  visit  these  ancient  people,  ambitious  to  bear  to 
them  the  relation  of  discoverer,  as  it  were.  A  High- 
Dutch  Columbus,  from  Vienna,  had  been  before  me, 
and  I  could  only  come  in  for  Amerigo  Vespucci's 
tempered  glory.  This  German  savant  had  dwelt  a 
week  in  these  lonely  places,  patiently  compiling  a 
dictionary  of  their  tongue,  which,  when  it  was 
printed,  he  had  sent  to  the  Capo. 

Concerning  the  present  Cimbri,  the  Capo  said 
that  in  his  community  they  were  chiefly  hunters, 
wood-cutters,  and  charcoal-burners,  and  that  they 
practiced  their  primitive  crafts  in  those  gloomier 
and  wilder  heights  we  saw  to  the  northward,  and 
descended  to  the  towns  of  the  plain  to  make  sale  of 
their  fagots,  charcoal,  and  wild-beast  skins.  In  Asi- 
ago  and  the  larger  communities  they  were  farmers 
and  tradesmen  like  the  Italians  ;  and  the  Capo  be 
lieved  that  the  Cimbri,  in  all  their  villages,  num 
bered  near  ten  thousand.  He  could  tell  me  of  no 
particular  customs  or  usages,  and  believed  they  did 
not  differ  from  the  Italians  now  except  in  race  and 
language.1  They  are,  of  course,  subject  to  the  Aus- 

1  The  English  traveler  Rose,  who  (to  my  further  discomfiture         / 
I  find)  visited  Asiago  in  1817,  mentions  that  the  Cimbri  have  the      » 


228  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

trian  government,  but  not  so  strictly  as  the  Italians 
are ;  and  though  they  are  taxed  and  made  to  do  mil 
itary  service,  they  are  otherwise  left  to  regulate 
their  affairs  pretty  much  at  their  pleasure. 

The  Capo  ended  his  discourse  with  much  polite 
regret  that  he  had  nothing  more  worthy  to  tell  us  ; 
and,  as  if  to  make  us  amends  for  having  come  so  far 
to  learn  so  little,  he  said  there  was  a  hermit  living 
near,  whom  we  might  like  to  see,  and  sent  his  son 
to  conduct  us  to  the  hermitage.  It  turned  out  to 
be  the  white  object  which  we  had  seen  gleaming 
in  the  wood  on  the  mountain  from  so  great  distance 
below,  and  the  wood  turned  out  to  be  a  pleasant 
beechen  grove,  in  which  we  found  the  hermit  cut 
ting  fagots.  He  was  warmly  dressed  in  clothes 
without  rent,  and  wore  the  clerical  knee-breeches. 
He  saluted  us  with  a  cricket-like  chirpiness  of  man- 
Celtic  custom  of  waking  the  dead.  "  If  a  traveler  dies  by  the 
way,  they  plant  a  cross  upon  the  spot,  and  all  who  pass  by  cast  a 
stone  upon  his  cairn.  Some  go  in  certain  seasons  in  the  year  to 
high  places  and  woods,  where  it  is  supposed  they  worshiped  their 
divinities,  but  the  origin  of  the  custom  is  forgot  amongst  them 
selves."  If  a  man  dies  by  violence,  they  lay  him  out  with  his  hat 
and  shoes  on,  as  if  to  give  him  the  appearance  of  a  wayfarer,  and 
"  symbolize  one  surprised  in  the  great  journey  of  life."  A  woman 
dying  in  childbed  is  dressed  for  the  grave  in  her  bridal  ornaments. 
Mr.  Rose  is  very  scornful  of  the  notion  that  these  people  are  Cim- 
bri,  and  holds  that  it  is  "  more  consonant  to  all  the  evidence  of 
history  to  say,  that  the  flux  and  reflux  of  Teutonic  invaders  at 
different  periods  deposited  this  backwater  of  barbarians  "  in  the 
district  they  now  inhabit.  "  The  whole  space,  which  in  addition 
to  the  seven  burghs  contains  twenty-four  villages,  is  bounded  by 
rivers,  alps,  and  hills.  Its  most  precise  limits  are  the  Brenta  to 
the  east,  and  the  Astico  to  the  west." 


THE  CIMBRI  229 

ner,  and  was  greatly  amazed  to  hear  that  we  had 
come  all  the  way  from  America  to  visit  him.  His 
hermitage  was  built  upon  the  side  of  a  whitewashed 
chapel  to  St.  Francis,  and  contained  three  or  four 
little  rooms  or  cupboards,  in  which  the  hermit  dwelt 
and  meditated.  They  opened  into  the  chapel,  of 
which  the  hermit  had  the  care,  and  which  he  kept 
neat  and  clean  like  himself.  He  told  us  proudly 
that  once  a  year,  on  the  day  of  the  titular  saint,  a 
priest  came  and  said  mass  in  that  chapel,  and  it  was 
easy  to  see  that  this  was  the  great  occasion  of  the 
old  man's  life.  For  forty  years,  he  said,  he  had 
been  devout ;  and  for  twenty-five  he  had  dwelt  in 
this  place,  where  the  goodness  of  God  and  the 
charity  of  the  poor  people  around  had  kept  him 
from  want.  Altogether,  he  was  a  pleasant  enough 
hermit,  not  in  the  least  spiritual,  but  gentle,  simple, 
and  evidently  sincere.  We  gave  some  small  coins 
of  silver  to  aid  him  to  continue  his  life  of  devo 
tion,  and  Count  Giovanni  bestowed  some  coppers 
with  the  stately  blessing,  "  Iddio  vi  benedica,  padre 
mio  !  " 

So  we  left  the  hermitage,  left  Fozza,  and  started 
down  the  mountain  on  foot,  for  no  one  may  ride 
down  those  steeps.  Long  before  we  reached  the 
bottom,  we  had  learned  to  loathe  mountains  and  to 
long  for  dead  levels  during  the  rest  of  life.  Yet  the 
descent  was  picturesque,  and  in  some  things  even 
more  interesting  than  the  ascent  had  been.  'We 
met  more  people  ;  now  melancholy  shepherds  with 
their  flocks  ;  now  swineherds  and  swineherdesses 


230  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

with  herds  of  wild  black  pigs  of  the  Italian  breed  ; 
now  men  driving  asses  that  brayed  and  woke  long, 
loud,  and  most  musical  echoes  in  the  hills ;  now  whole 
peasant  families  driving  cows,  horses,  and  mules  to 
the  plains  below.  On  the  way  down,  fragments  of 
autobiography  began,  with  the  opportunities  of  con 
versation,  to  come  from  the  Count  Giovanni,  and 
we  learned  that  he  was  a  private  soldier  at  home 
on  that  pcrmesso  which  the  Austrian  government 
frequently  gives  its  less  able-bodied  men  in  times  of 
peace.  He  had  been  at  home  some  years,  and  did 
not  expect  to  be  again  called  into  the  service.  He 
liked  much  better  to  be  in  charge  of  the  cave  at 
Oliero  than  to  carry  the  musket,  though  he  con 
fessed  that  he  liked  to  see  the  world,  and  that  sol 
diering  brought  one  acquainted  with  many  places. 
He  had  not  many  ideas,  and  the  philosophy  of  his 
life  chiefly  regarded  deportment  toward  strangers 
who  visited  the  cave.  He  held  it  an  error  in  most 
custodians  to  show  discontent  when  travelers  gave 
them  little  ;  and  he  said  that  if  he  received  never  so 
much,  he  believed  it  wise  not  to  betray  exultation. 
"  Always  be  contented,  and  nothing  more,"  said 
Count  Giovanni. 

"  It  is  what  you  people  always  promise  before 
hand,"  I  said,  "  when  you  bargain  with  strangers,  to 
do  them  a  certain  service  for  what  they  please ;  but 
afterward  they  must  pay  what  you  please  or  have 
trouble.  I  know  you  will  not  be  content  with  what 
I  give  you." 

"  If  I  am  not  content,"  cried  Count  Giovanni, 
"  call  me  the  greatest  ass  in  the  world  !  " 


THE   CIMBRI  231 

And  I  am  bound  to  say  that,  for  all  I  could  see 
through  the  mask  of  his  face,  he  was  satisfied  with 
what  I  gave  him,  though  it  was  not  much. 

He  had  told  us  casually  that  he  was  nephew  of 
a  nobleman  of  a  certain  rich  and  ancient  family  in 
Venice,  who  sent  him  money  while  in  the  army,  but 
this  made  no  great  impression  on  me ;  and  though 
I  knew  there  was  enough  noble  poverty  in  Italy  to 
have  given  rise  to  the  proverb,  Un  conte  che  non 
conta,  non  conta  niente,  yet  I  confess  that  it  was 
with  a  shock  of  surprise  I  heard  our  guide  and  ser 
vant  saluted  by  a  lounger  in  Valstagna  with  "  Sior 
conte,  servitor  suo  !  "  I  looked  narrowly  at  him, 
but  there  was  no  ray  of  feeling  or  pride  visible  in 
his  pale  languid  visage  as  he  responded,  "  Buona 
sera,  caro." 

Still,  after  that  revelation  we  simple  plebeians, 
who  had  been  all  day  heaping  shawls  and  guide 
books  upon  Count  Giovanni,  demanding  menial  of 
fices  from  him,  and  treating  him  with  good-natured 
slight,  felt  uncomfortable  in  his  presence,  and  wel 
comed  the  appearance  of  our  carriage  with  our 
driver,  who,  having  started  drunk  from  Bassano  in 
the  morning,  had  kept  drunk  all  day  at  Valstagna, 
and  who  now  drove  us  back  wildly  over  the  road, 
and  almost  made  us  sigh  for  the  security  of  mules 
ambitious  of  the  brinks  of  precipices. 


MINOR   TRAVELS 


I.   PISA 

I  AM  afraid  that  the  talk  of  the  modern  railway 
traveler,  if  he  is  honest,  must  be  a  great  deal  of 
the  custodians,  the  vetturini,  and  the  facchini,  whose 
acquaintance  constitutes  his  chief  knowledge  of  the 
population  among  which  he  journeys.  We  do  not 
nowadays  carry  letters  recommending  us  to  citizens 
of  the  different  places.  If  we  did,  consider  the 
calamity  we  should  be  to  the  be-traveled  Italian  com 
munities  we  now  bless  !  No,  we  buy  our  through 
tickets,  and  we  put  up  at  the  hotels  praised  in  the 
hand-book,  and  are  very  glad  of  a  little  conversation 
with  any  native,  however  adulterated  he  be  by  con 
tact  with  the  world  to  which  we  belong.  I  do  not 
blush  to  own  that  I  love  the  whole  rascal  race  which 
ministers  to  our  curiosity  and  preys  upon  us,  and  I 
am  not  ashamed  to  have  spoken  so  often  in  this  book 


236  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

of  the  lowly  and  rapacious  but  interesting  porters 
who  opened  to  me  the  different  gates  of  that  great 
realm  of  wonders,  Italy.  I  doubt  if  they  can  be 
much  known  to  the  dwellers  in  the  land,  though  they 
are  the  intimates  of  all  sojourners  and  passengers  ; 
and  if  I  have  any  regret  in  the  matter,  it  is  that  I 
did  not  more  diligently  study  them  when  I  could. 

Among  memorable  custodians  in  Italy  was  one 
whom  we  saw  at  Pisa,  where  we  stopped  on  our  way 
from  Leghorn  after  our  accident  in  the  Maremma, 
and  spent  an  hour  in  viewing  the  Quattro  Fabbriche. 
The  beautiful  old  town,  which  every  one  knows  from 
the  report  of  travelers,  one  yet  finds  possessed  of  the 
incommunicable  charm  which  keeps  it  forever  novel 
to  the  visitor.  Lying  upon  either  side  of  the  broad 
Arno,  it  mirrors  in  the  flood  architecture  almost  as 
fair  and  noble  as  that  glassed  in  the  Canalazzo,  and 
its  other  streets  seemed  as  tranquil  as  the  canals  of 
Venice.  Those  over  which  we  drove,  on  the  day 
of  our  visit,  were  paved  with  broad  flagstones,  and 
gave  out  scarcely  a  sound  under  our  wheels.  It 
was  Sunday,  and  no  one  was  to  be  seen.  Yet  the 
empty  and  silent  city  inspired  us  with  no  sense  of 
desolation.  The  palaces  were  in  perfect  repair  ;  the 
pavements  were  clean ;  behind  those  windows  we 
felt  that  there  must  be  a  good  deal  of  easy,  comfort 
able  life.  It  is  said  that  Pisa  is  one  of  the  few 
places  in  Europe  where  the  sweet,  but  timid  spirit 
of  Inexpensiveness — everywhere  pursued  by  Rail 
ways —  still  lingers,  and  that  you  find  cheap  apart 
ments  in  those  well-preserved  old  palaces.  No 


PISA  237 

doubt  it  would  be  worth  more  to  live  in  Pisa  than 
it  would  cost,  for  the  history  of  the  place  would 
alone  be  to  any  reasonable  sojourner  a  perpetual 
recompense,  and  a  princely  income  far  exceeding 
his  expenditure.  To  be  sure,  the  Tower  of  Famine, 
with  which  we  chiefly  associate  the  name  of  Pisa, 
has  been  long  razed  to  the  ground,  and  built  piece 
meal  into  the  neighboring  palaces,  but  you  may 
still  visit  the  dead  wall  which  hides  from  view  the 
place  where  it  stood ;  and  you  may  thence  drive 
on,  as  we  did,  to  the  great  Piazza  where  stands  the 
most  famous  group  of  architecture  in  the  world, 
after  that  of  St.  Mark's  Place  in  Venice.  There 
is  the  wonderful  Leaning  Tower,  there  is  the  old 
and  beautiful  Duomo,  there  is  the  noble  Baptistery, 
there  is  the  lovely  Campo  Santo,  and  there  —  some 
where  lurking  in  portal  or  behind  pillar,  and  keep 
ing  out  an  eagle-eye  for  the  marveling  stranger  — 
is  the  much-experienced  cicerone  who  shows  you 
through  the  edifices.  Yours  is  the  fourteen-thou 
sandth  American  family  to  which  he  has  had  the 
honor  of  acting  as  guide,  and  he  makes  you  feel  an 
illogical  satisfaction  in  thus  becoming  a  contribu 
tion  to  statistics. 

We  entered  the  Duomo,  in  our  new  friend's  cus 
tody,  and  we  saw  the  things  which  it  was  well  to 
see.  There  was  mass,  or  some  other  ceremony, 
transacting  ;  but  as  usual  it  was  made  as  little  ob 
trusive  as  possible,  and  there  was  not  much  to 
weaken  the  sense  of  proprietorship  with  which  trav 
elers  view  objects  of  interest.  Then  we  ascended 


238  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

the  Leaning  Tower,  skillfully  preserving  its  equilib 
rium  as  we  went  by  an  inclination  of  our  persons 
in  a  direction  opposed  to  the  tower's  inclination,  but 
perhaps  not  receiving  a  full  justification  of  the  Cam 
panile's  appearance  in  pictures,  till  we  stood  at  its 
base,  and  saw  its  vast  bulk  and  height  as  it  seemed 
to  sway  and  threaten  in  the  blue  sky  above  our 
heads.  There  the  sensation  was  too  terrible  for 
endurance,  —  even  the  architectural  beauty  of  the 
tower  could  not  save  it  from  being  monstrous  to  us, 
—  and  we  were  glad  to  hurry  away  from  it  to  the 
serenity  and  solemn  loveliness  of  the  Campo  Santo. 
Here  are  the  frescoes  painted  five  hundred  years 
ago  to  be  ruinous  and  ready  against  the  time  of  your 
arrival  in  1 864,  and  you  feel  that  you  are  the  first  to 
enjoy  the  joke  of  the  Vergognosa,  that  cunning  jade 
who  peers  through  her  fingers  at  the  shameful  con 
dition  of  deboshed  father  Noah,  and  seems  to  wink 
one  eye  of  wicked  amusement  at  you.  Turning  after 
ward  to  any  book  written  about  Italy  during  the 
time  specified,  you  find  your  impression  of  exclusive 
possession  of  the  frescoes  erroneous,  and  your  muse 
naturally  despairs,  where  so  many  muses  have  labored 
in  vain,  to  give  a  just  idea  of  the  Campo  Santo. 
Yet  it  is  most  worthy  celebration.  Those  exqui 
sitely  arched  and  traceried  colonnades  seem  to  grow 
like  the  slim  cypresses  out  of  the  sainted  earth  of 
Jerusalem ;  and  those  old  paintings,  made  when  Art 
was  —  if  ever  —  a  Soul,  and  not  as  now  a  mere 
Intelligence,  enforce  more  effectively  than  their 
authors  conceived  the  lessons  of  life  and  death  ;  for 


PISA  239 

they  are  themselves  becoming  part  of  the  trium 
phant  decay  they  represent.  If  it  was  awful  once 
to  look  upon  that  strange  scene  where  the  gay  lords 
and  ladies  of  the  chase  come  suddenly  upon  three 
dead  men  in  their  coffins,  while  the  devoted  hermits 
enjoy  the  peace  of  a  dismal  righteousness  on  a  hill 
in  the  background,  it  is  yet  more  tragic  to  behold  it 
now  when  the  dead  men  are  hardly  discernible  in 
their  coffins,  and  the  hermits  are  but  the  vaguest 
shadows  of  gloomy  bliss.  Alas !  Death  mocks 
even  the  homage  done  him  by  our  poor  fears  and 
hopes  :  with  dust  he  covers  dust,  and  with  decay 
he  blots  the  image  of  decay. 

I  assure  the  reader  that  I  made  none  of  these  apt 
reflections  in  the  Campo  Santo  at  Pisa,  but  have 
written  them  out  this  morning  in  Cambridge  because 
there  happens  to  be  an  east  wind  blowing.  No  one 
could  have  been  sad  in  the  company  of  our  cheerful 
and  patient  cicerone,  who,  although  visibly  anxious 
to  get  his  fourteen-thousandth  American  family 
away,  still  would  not  go  till  he  had  shown  us  that 
monument  to  a  dead  enmity  which  hangs  in  the 
Campo  Santo.  This  is  the  mighty  chain  which  the 
Pisans,  in  their  old  wars  with  the  Genoese,  once 
stretched  across  the  mouth  of  their  harbor  to  pre 
vent  the  entrance  of  the  hostile  galleys.  The 
Genoese  with  no  great  trouble  carried  the  chain 
away,  and  kept  it  ever  afterward  till  1860,  when 
Pisa  was  united  to  the  kingdom  of  Italy.  Then  the 
trophy  was  restored  to  the  Pisans,  and  with  public 
rejoicings  placed  in  the  Campo  Santo,  an  emblem 


240  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

of  reconciliation  and  perpetual  amity  between  an 
cient  foes.1  It  is  not  a  very  good  world,  —  e  pur  si 
muove. 

The  Baptistery  stands  but  a  step  away  from  the 
Campo  Santo,  and  our  guide  ushered  us  into  it  with 
the  air  of  one  who  had  till  now  held  in  reserve  his 
great  stroke  and  was  ready  to  deliver  it.  Yet  I  think 
he  waited  till  we  had  looked  at  some  comparatively 
trifling  sculptures  by  Nicolo  Pisano  before  he  raised 
his  voice  and  uttered  a  melodious  species  of  howl. 
While  we  stood  in  some  amazement  at  this,  the 
conscious  structure  of  the  dome  caught  the  sound 
and  prolonged  it  with  a  variety  and  sweetness  of 
which  I  could  not  have  dreamed.  The  man  poured 
out  in  quick  succession  his  musical  wails,  and  then 
ceased,  and  a  choir  of  heavenly  echoes  burst  forth  in 
response.  There  was  a  supernatural  beauty  in  these 
harmonies  of  which  I  despair  of  giving  any  true  idea  : 
they  were  of  such  tender  and  exalted  rapture  that 
we  might  well  have  thought  them  the  voices  of 
young-eyed  cher.ubim,  singing  as  they  passed  through 
Paradise  over  that  spot  of  earth  where  we  stood. 
They  seemed  a  celestial  compassion  that  stooped 
and  soothed,  and  rose  again  in  lofty  and  solemn 
acclaim,  leaving  us  poor  and  penitent  and  humbled. 

1  I  read  in  Mr.  Norton's  Notes  of  Travel  and  Study  in  Italy, 
that  he  saw  in  the  Campo  Santo,  as  long  ago  as  1856,  "  the  chains 
that  marked  the  servitude  of  Pisa,  now  restored  by  Florence,"  and 
it  is  of  course  possible  that  our'cicerone  may  have  employed  one 
of  those  chains  for  the  different  historical  purpose  I  have  men 
tioned.  It  would  be  a  thousand  pities,  I  think,  if  a  monument  of 
that  sort  should  be  limited  to  the  commemoration  of  one  fact  only. 


* 

.       --        • 

---'•     <, 
' 

'"  r!T^7  —  •  fr 


V>MS^M  -        :  I  ft 


' 

'• 

>-• 


X  . 

r^ 

PISA,  THE  EMBANKMENT 

£1*1  «)«»•»*' 

*.", lJiii  JKS_  lymLjt^fat.L, 


&& 


PISA  241 

We  were  long  silent,  and  then  broke  forth  with 
cries  of  admiration  of  which  the  marvelous  echo 
made  eloquence. 

"  Did  you  ever,"  said  the  cicerone  after  we  had 
left  the  building,  "  hear  such  music  as  that  ?  " 

"The  papal  choir  does  not  equal  it,"  we  answered 
with  one  voice. 

The  cicerone  was  not  to  be  silenced  even  with 
such  a  tribute,  and  he  went  on  : 

"  Perhaps,  as  you  are  Amei^cans,  you  know 
Moshu  Feelmore,  the  President  ?  No  ?  Ah,  what 
a  fine  man!  You  saw  that  he  had  his  heart  actually 
in  his  hand  !  Well,  one  day  he  said  to  me  here, 
when  I  told  him  of  the  Baptistery  echo,  '  We  have 
the  finest  echo  in  the  world  in  the  Hall  of  Con 
gress.'  I  said  nothing,  but  for  answer  I  merely 
howled  a  little,  —  thus  !  Moshu  Feelmore  was 
convinced.  Said  he,  '  There  is  no  other  echo  in  the 
world  besides  this.  You  are  right.'  I  am  unique," 
pursued  the  cicerone,  "for  making  this  echo.  But," 
he  added  with  a  sigh,  "  it  has  been  my  ruin.  The 
English  have  put  me  in  all  the  guide-books,  and 
sometimes  I  have  to  howl  twenty  times  a  day. 
When  our  Victor  Emanuel  came  here  I  showed  him 
the  church,  the  tower,  and  the  Campo  Santo.  Says 
the  king,  '  Pfui !  "  -  here  the  cicerone  gave  that 
sweeping  outward  motion  with  both  hands  by  which 
Italians  dismiss  a  trifling  subject  —  "  'make  me  the 
echo  ! '  I  was  forced,"  concluded  the  cicerone  with 
a  strong  pretense  of  injury  in  his  tone,  "to  howl 
half  an  hour  without  ceasing." 


II.   TRIESTE 

IF  you  take  the  midnight  steamer  at  Venice  you 
reach  Trieste  by  six  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  the  hills  rise  to  meet  you  as  you  enter  the 
broad  bay  dotted  with  the  sail  of  fishing-craft.  The 
hills  are  bald  and  bare,  and  you  find,  as  you  draw 
near,  that  the  city  lies  at  their  feet  under  a  veil  of 
mist,  or  climbs  earlier  into  view  along  their  sides. 
The  prospect  is  singularly  devoid  of  gentle  and 
pleasing  features,  and  looking  at  those  rugged  ac- 


TRIESTE  243 

clivities,  with  their  aspect  of  continual  bleakness, 
you  readily  believe  all  the  stories  you  have  heard  of 
that  fierce  wind  called  the  Bora  which  sweeps  from 
them  through  Trieste  at  certain  seasons.  While  it 
blows,  ladies  walking  near  the  quays  are  sometimes 
caught  up  and  set  afloat,  involuntary  Galateas,  in 
the  bay,  and  people  keep  indoors  as  much  as  pos 
sible.  But  the  Bora,  though  so  sudden  and  so  sav 
age,  does  give  warning  of  its  rise,  and  the  peasants 
avail  themselves  of  this  characteristic.  They  station 
a  man  on  one  of  the  mountain  tops,  and  when  he 
feels  the  first  breath  of  the  Bora,  he  sounds  a  horn, 
which  is  a  signal  for  all  within  hearing  to  lay  hold 
of  something  that  cannot  be  blown  away,  and  cling 
to  it  till  the  wind  falls.  This  may  happen  in  three 
days  or  in  nine,  according  to  the  popular  proverbs. 
"  The  spectacle  of  the  sea,"  says  Dall'  Ongaro,  in  a 
note  to  one  of  his  ballads,  "  while  the  Bora  blows, 
is  sublime,  and  when  it  ceases  the  prospect  of  the 
surrounding  hills  is  delightful.  The  air,  purified  by 
the  rapid  current,  clothes  them  with  a  rosy  veil,  and 
the  temperature  is  instantly  softened,  even  in  the 
heart  of  winter." 

The  city  itself,  as  you  penetrate  it,  makes  good 
with  its  stateliness  and  picturesqueness  your  loss 
through  the  grimness  of  its  environs.  It  is  in  great 
part  new,  very  clean,  and  full  of  the  life  and  move 
ment  of  a  prosperous  port ;  but,  better  than  this,  so 
far  as  the  mere  sight-seer  is  concerned,  it  wins  a 
peculiar  charm  from  the  many  public  staircases  by 
which  you  ascend  and  descend  its  hillier  quarters, 


244  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

and  which  are  made  of  stone,  and  lightly  railed  and 
balustraded  with  iron. 

Something  of  all  this  I  noticed  in  my  ride  from 
the  landing  of  the  steamer  to  the  house  of  friends 
in  the  suburbs,  and  there  I  grew  better  disposed 
toward  the  hills,  which,  as  I  strolled  over  them,  I 
found  dotted  with  lovely  villas,  and  everywhere  trav 
ersed  by  perfectly  kept  carriage-roads,  and  easy  and 
pleasant  footpaths.  It  was  in  the  spring-time,  and 
the  peach-trees  and  almond-trees  hung  full  of  blos 
soms  and  bees,  the  lizards  lay  in  the  walks  absorbing 
the  vernal  sunshine,  the  violets  and  cowslips  sweet 
ened  all  the  grassy  borders.  The  scene  did  not 
want  a  human  interest,  for  the  peasant  girls  were 
going  to  market  at  that  hour,  and  I  met  them 
everywhere,  bearing  heavy  burdens  on  their  own 
heads,  or  hurrying  forward  with  their  wares  on  the 
backs  of  donkeys.  They  were  as  handsome  as  heart 
could  wish,  and  they  wore  that  Italian  costume 
which  is  not  to  be  seen  anywhere  in  Italy  except  at 
Trieste  and  in  the  Roman  and  Neapolitan  provinces, 
—  a  bright  bodice  and  gown,  with  the  headdress  of 
dazzling  white  linen,  square  upon  the  crown,  and 
dropping  lightly  to  the  shoulders.  Later  I  saw 
these  comely  maidens  crouching  on  the  ground  in 
the  market-place,  and  selling  their  wares,  with  much 
glitter  of  eyes,  teeth,  and  earrings,  and  a  continual 
babble  of  bargaining. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  the  average  of  good  looks 
was  greater  among  the  women  of  Trieste  than 
among  those  of  Venice,  but  that  the  instances  of 


APPROACHING   VENICE 


TRIESTE  245 

striking  and  exquisite  beauty  were  rarer.  At  Trieste, 
too,  the  Italian  type,  so  pure  at  Venice,  is  lost  or 
continually  modified  by  the  mixed  character  of  the 
population,  which  perhaps  is  most  noticeable  at  the 
Merchants'  Exchange.  This  is  a  vast  edifice  roofed 
with  glass,  where  the  traffickers  of  all  races  meet 
daily  to  gossip  over  the  news  and  the  prices.  Here 
a  Greek  or  Dalmat  talks  with  an  eager  Italian  or  a 
slow,  sure  Englishman  ;  here  the  hated  Austrian 
buttonholes  the -Venetian  or  the  Magyar;  here  the 
Jew  meets  the  Gentile  on  common  ground ;  here 
Christianity  encounters  the  hoary  superstitions  of 
the  East,  and  makes  a  good  thing  out  of  them  in 
cotton  or  grain.  All  costumes  are  seen  here,  and 
all  tongues  are  heard,  the  native  Triestines  contrib 
uting  almost  as  much  to  the  variety  of  parlance  as 
the  foreigners.  "In  regard  to  language,"  says 
Cantu,  "though  the  country  is  peopled  by  Slavo 
nians,  yet  the  Italian  tongue  is  spreading  into  the 
remotest  villages  where  a  few  years  since  it  was  not 
understood.  In  the  city  it  is  the  common  and  famil 
iar  language ;  the  Slavonians  of  the  North  use  the 
German  for  the  language  of  ceremony ;  those  of  the 
South,  as  well  as  the  Israelites,  the  Italian ;  while 
the  Protestants  use  the  German,  the  Greeks  the 
Hellenic  and  Illyric,  the  employes  of  the  civil  courts 
the  Italian  or  the  German,  the  schools  now  German 
and  now  Italian,  the  bar  and  the  pulpit  Italian. 
Most  of  the  inhabitants,  indeed,  are  bi-lingual,  and 
very  many  tri-lingual,  without  counting  French, 
which  is  understood  and  spoken  from  infancy. 


246  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

Italian,  German,  and  Greek  are  written,  but  the 
Slavonic  little,  this  having  remained  in  the  condi 
tion  of  a  vulgar  tongue.  But  it  would  be  idle  to 
distinguish  the  population  according  to  language, 
for  the  son  adopts  a  language  different  from  the 
father's,  and  now  prefers  one  language  and  now 
another ;  the  women  incline  to  the  Italian  ;  but 
those  of  the  upper  class  prefer  now  German,  now 
French,  now  English,  as,  from  one  decade  to  an 
other,  affairs,  fashions,  and  fancies  change.  This 
in  the  salons  ;  in  the  squares  and  streets,  the  Vene 
tian  dialect  is  heard." 

And  with  the  introduction  of  the  Venetian  dia 
lect,  Venetian  discontent  seems  also  to  have  crept 
in,  and  I  once  heard  a  Triestine  declaim  against  the 
Imperial  government  quite  in  the  manner  of  Ven 
ice.  It  struck  me  that  this  desire  for  union  with 
Italy,  which  he  declared  prevalent  in  Trieste  must 
be  of  very  recent  growth,  since  eve'n  so  late  as 
1848  Trieste  had  refused  to  join  Venice  in  the  ex 
pulsion  of  the  Austrians.  Indeed,  the  Triestines 
have  fought  the  Venetians  from  the  first ;  they 
stole  the  Brides  of  Venice  in  one  of  their  piratical 
cruises  in  the  lagoons  ;  gave  aid  and  comfort  to 
those  enemies  of  Venice,  the  Visconti,  the  Car- 
raras,  and  the  Genoese;  revolted  from  St.  Mark 
whenever  subjected  to  his  banner,  and  finally,  rather 
than  remain  under  his  sway,  gave  themselves  five 
centuries  ago  to  Austria. 

The  objects  of  interest  in  Trieste  are  not  many. 
There  are  remains  of  an  attributive  temple  of  Jupiter 


GRAND  CANAL,   TRIESTE 


TRIESTE  247 

under  the  Duomo,  and  there  is  near  at  hand  the 
Museum  of  Classical  Antiquities  founded  in  honor 
of  Winckelmann,  murdered  at  Trieste  by  Ancan- 
geli,  who  had  seen  the  medals  bestowed  on  the 
antiquary  by  Maria  Theresa  and  believed  him  rich. 
There  is  also  a  scientific  museum  founded  by  the 
Archduke  Maximilian,  and,  above  all,  there  is  the 
beautiful  residence  of  that  ill-starred  prince,  —  the 
Miramare,  where  the  half-crazed  Empress  of  the 
Mexicans  vainly  waits  her  husband's  return  from 
the  experiment  of  paternal  government  in  the  New 
World.  It  would  be  hard  to  tell  how  Art  has 
charmed  rock  and  wave  at  Miramare  until  the  spur 
of  one  of  those  rugged  Triestine  hills,  jutting  into 
the  sea,  has  been  made  the  seat  of  ease  and  luxury, 
but  the  visitor  is  aware  of  the  magic  as  soon  as  he 
passes  the  gate  of  the  palace  grounds.  These  are 
in  great  part  perpendicular,  and  are  over  clambered 
with  airy  stairways  climbing  to  pensile  arbors. 
Where  horizontal,  they  are  diversified  with  mimic 
seas  for  swans  to  sail  upon,  and  summer-houses  for 
people  to  lounge  in  and  look  at  the  swans  from. 
On  the  point  of  land  farthest  from  the  acclivity 
stands  the  Castle  of  Miramare,  half  at  sea,  and  half 
adrift  in  the  clouds  above  :  — 

"  And  fain  it  would  stoop  downward 

To  the  mirrored  wave  below ; 
And  fain  it  would  soar  upward 
In  the  evening's  crimson  glow." 

I  remember  that  a  little  yacht  lay  beside  the  pier 
at  the  castle's  foot,  and  lazily  flapped  its  sail,  while 


248  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

the  sea  beat  inward  with  as  langui'd  a  pulse.  That 
was  some  years  ago,  before  Mexico  was  dreamed  of 
at  Miramare  :  now,  perchance,  she  who  is  one  of  the 
most  unhappy  among  women  looks  down  distraught 
from  those  high  windows,  and  finds  in  the  helpless 
sail  and  impassive  wave  the  images  of  her  baffled 
hope,  and  that  immeasurable  sea  which  gives  back 
its  mariners  neither  to  love  nor  sorrow.  I  think 
though  she  be  the  wife  and  daughter  of  princes,  we 
may  pity  this  poor  Empress  at  least  as  much  as  we 
pity  the  Mexicans  to  whom  her  dreams  brought  so 
many  woes. 

It  was  the  midnight  following  my  visit  to  Mira 
mare  when  the  fiacre  in  which  I  had  quitted  my 
friend's  house  was  drawn  up  by  its  greatly  bewil 
dered  driver  on  the  quay  near  the  place  where  the 
steamer  for  Venice  should  be  lying.  There  was  no 
steamer  for  Venice  to  be  seen.  The  driver  swore 
a  little  in  the  polyglot  profanities  of  his  native  city, 
and  descending  from  his  box,  went  and  questioned 
different  lights  —  blue  lights,  yellow  lights,  green 
lights  — to  be  seen  at  different  points.  To  a  light, 
they  were  ignorant,  though  eloquent,  and  to  pass  the 
time,  we  drove  up  and  down  the  quay,  and  stopped 
at  the  landings  of  all  the  steamers  that  touch  at 
Trieste.  It  was  a  snug  fiacre  enough,  but  I  did  not 
care  to  spend  the  night  in  it,  and  I  urged  the  driver 
to  further  inquiry.  A  wanderer  whom  we  met  de 
clared  that  it  was  not  the  night  for  the  Venice 
steamer;  another  admitted  that  it  might  be;  a  third 
conversed  with  the  driver  in  low  tones,  and  then 


TRIESTE  249 

leaped  upon  the  box.  We  drove  rapidly  away,  and 
before  I  had,  in  view  of  this  mysterious  proceeding, 
composed  a  fitting  paragraph  for  the  Fatti  Diversi 
of  the  "  Osservatore  Triestino,"  descriptive  of  the 
state  in  which  the  Guardie  di  Polizia  should  find 
me  floating  in  the  bay,  exanimate  and  evidently  the 
prey  of  a  triste  evenimento  —  the  driver  pulled  up 
once  more,  and  now  beside  a  steamer.  It  was  the 
steamer  for  Venice,  he  said,  in  precisely  the  tone 
which  he  would  have  used  had  he  driven  me  directly 
to  it  without  blundering.  It  was  breathing  heavily, 
and  was  just  about  to  depart,  but  even  in  the  hurry 
of  getting  on  board,  I  could  not  help  noticing  that 
it  seemed  to  have  grown  a  great  deal  since  I  had 
last  voyaged  in  it.  There  was  not  a  soul  to  be  seen 
except  the  mute  steward  who  took  my  satchel,  and 
guiding  me  below  into  an  elegant  saloon,  instantly 
left  me  alone.  •  Here  again  the  steamer  was  vastly 
enlarged.  These  were  not  the  narrow  quarters  of 
the  Venice  steamer,  nor  was  this  lamp,  shedding  a 
soft  light  on  cushioned  seats  and  paneled  doors 
and  wainscotings  the  sort  of  illumination  usual  in 
that  humble  craft.  I  rang  the  small  silver  bell  on 
the  long  table,  and  the  mute  steward  appeared. 

Was  this  the  steamer  for  Venice  ? 

Sicuro  ! 

All  that  I  could  do  in  comment  was  to  sit  down ; 
and  in  the  mean  time  the  steamer  trembled,  groaned, 
choked,  cleared  its  throat,  and  we  were  under  way. 

"The  other  passengers  have  all  gone  to  bed,  I 
suppose,"  I  argued  acutely,  seeing  none  of  them. 


250  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

Nevertheless,  I  thought  it  odd,  and  it  seemed-  a 
shrewd  means  of  relief  to  ring  the  bell,  and  pretend 
ing  drowsiness,  to  ask  the  steward  which  was  my 
stateroom, 

He  replied  with  a  curious  smile  that  I  could  have 
any  of  them.  Amazed,  I  yet  selected  a  stateroom, 
and  while  the  steward  was  gone  for  the  sheets  and 
pillow-cases,  I  occupied  my  time  by  opening  the 
doors  of  all  the  other  staterooms.  They  were 
empty. 

a  Am  I  the  only  passenger  ?  "  I  asked,  when  he 
returned,  with  some  anxiety. 

"  Precisely,"  he  answered. 

I  could  not  proceed  and  ask  if  he  composed  the 
entire  crew  —  it  seemed  too  fearfully  probable  that 
he  did. 

I  now  suspected  that  I  had  taken  passage  with 
the  Olandese  Volante.  There  was  nothing  in  the 
world  for  it,  however,  but  to  go  to  bed,  and  there, 
with  the  accession  of  a  slight  seasickness,  my  views 
of  the  situation  underwent  a  total  change.  I  had 
gone  down  into  the  Maelstrom  with  the  Ancient 
Mariner  —  I  was  a  Manuscript  Found  in  a  Bottle ! 

Coming  to  the  surface  about  six  o'clock  A.  M.,  I 
found  a  daylight  as  cheerful  as  need  be  upon  the 
appointments  of  the  elegant  saloon,  and  upon  the 
good-natured  face  of  the  steward  when  he  brought 
me  the  cafft  latte,  and  the  buttered  toast  for  my 
breakfast.  He  said  "  Servitor  suo  !  "  in  a  loud  and 
comfortable  voice,  and  I  perceived  the  absurdity  of 
having  thought  that  he  was  in  any  way  related  to 


< 


,i}'^V-P^i;  • 
f%tfjEiJj£- 

Jteir~ 


TRIESTE  251 

the  Nightmare-Death-in-life-that-thioks-man's-blood- 
with-cold. 

"  This  is  not  the  regular  Venice  steamer,  I  sup 
pose,"  I  remarked  to  the  steward  as  he  laid  my 
breakfast  in  state  upon  the  long  table. 

No.  Properly,  no  boat  should  have  left  for  Venice 
last  night,  which  was  not  one  of  the  times  of  the  tri 
weekly  departure.  This  was  one  of  the  steamers 
of  the  line  between  Trieste  and  Alexandria,  and  it 
was  going  at  present  to  take  on  an  extraordinary 
freight  at  Venice  for  Egypt.  I  had  been  permitted 
to  come  on  board  because  my  driver  said  I  had  a 
return  ticket,  and  would  go. 

Ascending  to  the  deck  I  found  nothing  whatever 
mysterious  in  the  management  of  the  steamer.  The 
captain  met  me  with  a  bow  in  the  gangway  ;  seamen 
were  coiling  wet  ropes  at  different  points,  as  they 
always  are ;  the  mate  was  promenading  the  bridge, 
and  taking  the  rainy  weather  as  it  came,  with  his 
oil-cloth  coat  and  hat  on. 

We  were  in  sight  of  the  breakwater  outside  Mala- 
mocco,  and  a  pilot-boat  was  making  us  from  the 
land.  Even  at  this  point  the  innumerable  fortifica 
tions  of  the  Austrians  began,  and  they  multiplied 
as  we  drew  near  Venice,  till  we  entered  the  lagoon, 
and  found  it  a  nest  of  fortresses  one  with  another. 

Unhappily  the  day  being  rainy,  Venice  did  not 
spring  resplendent  from  the  sea,  as  I  had  always 
read  she  would.  She  rose  slowly  and  languidly 
from  the  water, — not  like  a  queen,  but  like  the 
gray,  slovenly,  bedrabbled,  heart-broken  old  slave 
she  really  was. 


III.   BASSANO 

I  HAVE  already  told,  in  recounting  the  story  of 
our  visit  to  the  Cimbri,  how  full  of  courtship  we 
found  the  little  city  of  Bassano  on  the  evening  of 
our  arrival  there.  Bassano  is  the  birthplace  of  the 
painter  Jacopo  da  Ponte,  who  was  one  of  the  first 
Italian  painters  to  treat  scriptural  story  as  accessory 
to  mere  landscape,  and  who  had  a  peculiar  fondness 


BASSANO  253 

for  painting  Entrances  into  the  Ark,' for  in  these  he 
could  indulge  without  stint  the  taste  for  pairing-off 
early  acquired  from  observation  of  local  customs  in 
his  native  town.  This  was  the  theory  offered  by 
one  who  had  imbibed  the  spirit  of  subtile  specula 
tion  from  Ruskin,  and  I  think  it  reasonable.  At  v 
least  it  does  not  conflict  with  the  fact  that  there  is 
at  Bassano  a  most  excellent  gallery  of  paintings 
entirely  devoted  to  the  works  of  Jacopo  da  Ponte, 
and  his  four  sons,  who  are  here  to  be  seen  to  better 
advantage  than  anywhere  else.  As  few  strangers 
visit  Bassano,  the  gallery  is  little  frequented.  It  is 
in  charge  of  a  very  strict  old  man,  who  will  not 
allow  people  to  look  at  the  pictures  till  he  has  shown 
them  the  adjoining  cabinet  of  geological  specimens. 
It  is  in  vain  that  you  assure  him  of  your  indiffer 
ence  to  these  scientific  scccature ;  he  is  deaf,  and 
you  are  not  suffered  to  escape  a  single  fossil.  He 
asked  us  a  hundred  questions,  and  understood  no 
thing  in  reply,  insomuch  that  when  he  came  to  his 
last  inquiry,  "  Have  the  Protestants  the  same  God 
as  the  Catholics  ?  "  we  were  rather  glad  that  he 
should  be  obliged  to  settle  the  fact  for  himself. 

Underneath  the  gallery  was  a  school  of  boys, 
whom  as  we  entered  we  heard  humming  over  the 
bitter  honey  which  childhood  is  obliged  to  gather 
from  the  opening  flowers  of  orthography.  When 
we  passed  out,  the  master  gave  these  poor  busy  bees 
an  atom  of  holiday,  and  they  all  swarmed  forth  to 
gether  to  look  at  the  strangers.  The  teacher  was  a 
long,  lank  man,  in  a  black  threadbare  coat,  and  a 


254  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

skull-cap  —  exactly  like  the  schoolmaster  in  "  The 
Deserted  Village."  We  made  a  pretense  of  asking 
him  our  way  to  somewhere,  and-  went  wrong,  and 
came  by  accident  upon  a  wide  flat  space,  bare  as  a 
brick-yard,  beside  which  was  lettered  on  a  fragment 
of  the  old  city  wall,  "  Giuoco  di  Palla."  It  was  evi 
dently  the  playground  of  the  whole  city,  and  it  gave 
us  a  pleasanter  idea  of  life  in  Bassano  than  we  had 
yet  conceived,  to  think  of  its  entire  population 
playing  ball  there  in  the  spring  afternoons.  We 
respected  Bassano  as  much  for  this  as  for  her  dili 
gent  remembrance  of  her  illustrious  dead,  of  whom 
she  has  very  great  numbers.  It  appeared  to  us 
that  nearly  every  other  house  bore  a  tablet  announ 
cing  that  "  Here  was  born,"  or  "  Here  died,"  some 
great  or  good  man  of  whom  no  one  out  of  Bassano 
ever  heard.  There  is  enough  celebrity  in  Bassano 
to  supply  the  world  ;  but  as  laurel  is  a  thing  that 
grows  anywhere,  I  covet  rather  from  Bassano  the 
magnificent  ivy  that  covers  the  portions  of  her  an 
cient  wall  yet  standing.  The  wall,  where  visible,  is 
seen  to  be  of  a  pebbly  rough-cast,  but  it  is  clad 
almost  from  the  ground  in  glossy  ivy,  that  glitters 
upon  it  like  chain-mail  upon  the  vast  shoulders  of 
some  giant  warrior.  The  moat  beneath  is  turned 
into  a  lovely  promenade  bordered  by  quiet  villas, 
with  rococo  shepherds  and  shepherdesses  in  marble 
on  their  gates  ;  where  the  wall  is  built  to  the  verge 
of  the  high  ground  on  which  the  city  stands,  there 
is  a  swift  descent  to  the  wide  valley  of  the  Brenta 
waving  in  corn  and  vines  and  tobacco. 


m 


^:;id-a^ 


&m"-?. '-, 

m 


I 

4 

jj,^2  y^i^ 


'  ii  "'          '  m     '         Kltwi  * 

x.  J.A      "~  ' 


BASSANO,  THE  PIAZZA 


BASSANO  255 

We  went  up  the  Brenta  one  day  as  far  as  Oliero, 
to  visit  the  famous  cavern  already  mentioned,  out 
of  which,  from  the  secret  heart  of  the  hill,  gushes 
one  of  the  foamy  affluents  of  the  river.  It  is 
reached  by  passing  through  a  paper-mill,  fed  by  the 
stream,  and  then  through  a  sort  of  ante-grot  whence 
stepping-stones  are  laid  in  the  brawling  current 
through  a  succession  of  natural  compartments  with 
dome-like  roofs.  From  the  hill  overhead  hang  sta 
lactites  of  all  grotesque  and  fairy  shapes,  and  the 
rock  underfoot  is  embroidered  with  fantastic  designs 
wrought  by  the  water  in  the  silence  and  darkness  of 
the  endless  night.  At  a  considerable  distance  from 
the  mouth  of  the  cavern  is  a  wide  lake,  with  a  boat 
upon  it,  and  voyaging  to  the  centre  of  the  pool  your 
attention  is  drawn  to  the  dome  above  you,  which 
contracts  into  a  shaft  rising  upward  to  a  height  as 
yet  unmeasured  and  even  unpierced  by  light.  From 
somewhere  in  its  mysterious  ascent,  an  auroral  boy, 
with  a  tallow  candle,  produces  a  so-called  effect  of 
sunrise,  and  sheds  a  sad,  disheartening  radiance  on 
the  lake  and  the  cavern  sides,  which  is  to  sunlight 
about  as  the  blind  creatures  of  subterranean  waters 
are  to  those  of  waves  that  laugh  and  dance  above 
ground.  But  all  caverns  are  much  alike  in  their 
depressing  and  gloomy  influences,  and  since  there 
is  so  great  opportunity  to  be  wretched  on  the  sur 
face  of  the  earth,  why  do  people  visit  them  ?  I  do 
not  know  that  this  is  more  dispiriting  or  its  stream 
more  Stygian  than  another. 

The   wicked   memory   of    the   Ecelini   survives 


256  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

everywhere  in  this  part  of  Italy,  and  near  the  en 
trance  of  the  Oliero  grotto  is  a  hollow  in  the  hill 
something  like  the  apsis  of  a  church,  which  is  popu 
larly  believed  to  have  been  the  hiding-place  of  Ce 
cilia  da  Baone,  one  of  the  many  unhappy  wives  of 
one  of  the  many  miserable  members  of  the  Ecclino 
family.  It  is  not  quite  clear  when  Cecilia  should 
have  employed  this  as  a  place  of  refuge,  and  it  is 
certain  that  she  was  not  the  wife  of  Ecelino  da  Ro 
mano,  as  the  neighbors  believe  at  Oliero,  but  of 
Ecelino  il  Monaco,  his  father ;  yet  since  her  name 
is  associated  with  the  grot,  let  us  have  her  story, 
which  is  curiously  illustrative  of  the  life  of  the  best 
society  in  Italy  during  the  thirteenth  century.  She 
was  the  only  daughter  of  the  rich  and  potent  lord, 
Manfredo,  Count  of  Baone  and  Abano,  who  died 
leaving  his  heiress  to  the  guardianship  of  Spinabello 
da  Xendrico.  When  his  ward  reached  womanhood, 
Spinabello  cast  about  him  to  find  a  suitable  husband 
for  her,  and  it  appeared  to  him  that  a  match  with 
the  son  of  Tiso  da  Camposampiero  promised  the 
greatest  advantages.  Tiso,  to  whom  he  proposed 
the  affair,  was  delighted,  but  desiring  first  to  take 
counsel  with  his  friends  upon  so  important  a  matter, 
he  confided  it  for  advice  to  his  brother-in-law  and 
closest  intimate,  Ecelino  Balbo.  It  had  just  hap 
pened  that  Balbo' s  son,  Ecelino  il  Monaco,  was  at 
that  moment  disengaged,  having  been  recently 
divorced  from  his  first  wife,  the  lovely  but  light 
Speronella  ;  and  Balbo  falsely  went  to  the  greedy 
guardian  of  Cecilia,  and  offering  him  better  terms 


BASSANO  257 

than  he  could  hope  for  from  Tiso,  secured  Cecilia 
for  his  son.  At  this  treachery  the  Camposampieri 
were  furious  ;  but  they  dissembled  their  anger  till 
the  moment  of  revenge  arrived,  when  Cecilia's 
rejected  suitor  encountering  her  upon  a  journey 
beyond  the  protection  of  her  husband,  violently 
dishonored  his  successful  rival.  The  unhappy  lady 
returning  to  Ecelino  at  Bassano,  recounted  her 
wrong,  and  was  with  a  horrible  injustice  repudiated 
and  sent  home,  while  her  husband  arranged  schemes 
of  vengeance  in  due  time  consummated.  Cecilia 
next  married  a  Venetian  noble,  and  being  in  due 
time  divorced,  married  yet ,  again,  and  died  the 
mother  of  a  large  family  -of  children. 

This  is  a  very  old  scandal,  yet  I  think  there  was 
an  habitue  oi  the  caffe  in  Bassano  who  could  have 
given  some  of  its  particulars  from  personal  recollec 
tion.  He  was  an  old  and  smoothly  shaven  gentle 
man,  in  a  scrupulously  white  waistcoat,  whom  we 
saw  every  evening  in  a  corner  of  the  caffe  playing 
solitaire.  He  talked  with  no  one,  saluted  no  one. 
He  drank  his  glasses  of  water  with  anisette,  and 
silently  played  solitaire.  There  is  no  good  reason 
to  doubt  that  he  had  been  doing  the  same  thing 
every  evening  for  six  hundred  years. 


IV.   POSSAGNO,   CANOVA'S   BIRTHPLACE 

IT  did  not  take  a  long  time  to  exhaust  the  inter 
est  of  Bassano,  but  we  were  sorry  to  leave  the 
place  because  of  the  excellence  of  the  inn  at  which 
we  tarried.  It  was  called  "  II  Mondo,"  and  it  had 
everything  in  it  that  heart  could  wish.  Our  rooms 
were  miracles  of  neatness  and  comfort ;  they  had  the 
freshness,  not  the  rawness,  of  recent  repair,  and  they 
opened  into  the  dining-hall,  where  we  were  served 
with  indescribable  salads  and  risotti.  During  our 
sojourn  we  simply  enjoyed  the  house  ;  when  we  were 
come  away  we  wondered  that  so  much  perfection  of 
hotel  could  exist  in  so  small  a  town  as  Bassano.  It 


POSSAGNO  259 

is  one  of  the  pleasures  of  byway  travel  in  Italy,  that 
you  are  everywhere  introduced  in  character,  that 
you  become  fictitious  and  play  a  part  as  in  a  novel. 
To  this  inn  of  The  World,  our  driver  had  brought 
us  with  a  clamor  and  rattle  proportioned  to  the  fee 
received  from  us,  and  when,  in  response  to  his 
haughty  summons,  the  cameriere,  who  had  been 
gossiping  with  the  cook,  threw  open  the  kitchen 
door,  and  stood  out  to  welcome  us  in  a  broad  square 
of  forth-streaming  ruddy  light,  amid  the  lovely  odors 
of  broiling  and  roasting,  our  driver  saluted  him  with, 
"  Receive  these  gentle  folks,  and  treat  them  to  your 
very  best.  They  are  worthy  of  anything."  This  at 
once  put  us  back  several  centuries,  and  we  never 
ceased  to  be  lords  and  ladies  of  the  period  of  Don 
Quixote  as  long  as  we  rested  in  that  inn. 

It  was  a  bright  and  breezy  Sunday  when  we  left 
"  II  Mondo,"  and  gayly  journeyed  toward  Treviso, 
intending  to  visit  Possagno,  the  birthplace  of  Ca- 
nova,  on  our  way.  The  road  to  the  latter  place 
passes  through  a  beautiful  country,  that  gently  un 
dulates  on  either  hand  till  in  the  distance  it  rises 
into  pleasant  hills  and  green  mountain  heights. 
Possagno  itself  lies  upon  the  brink  of  a  declivity, 
down  the  side  of  which  drops  terrace  after  terrace, 
all  planted  with  vines  and  figs  and  peaches,  to  a 
watercourse  below.  The  ground  on  which  the 
village  is  built,  with  its  quaint  and  antiquated  stone 
cottages,  slopes  gently  northward,  and  on  a  little  rise 
upon  the  left  hand  of  us  coming  from  Bassano  we 
saw  that  stately  edifice  with  which  Canova  has  hon- 


2<5o  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

ored  his  humble  birthplace.  It  is  a  copy  of  the  Pan 
theon,  and  it  cannot  help  being  beautiful  and  impos 
ing,  but  it  would  be  utterly  out  of  place  in  any  other 
than  an  Italian  village.  Here,  however,  it  consorted 
well  enough  with  the  lingering  qualities  of  the  old 
pagan  civilization  still  perceptible  in  Italy.  A  sense 
of  that  past  was  so  strong  with  us  as  we  ascended 
the  broad  stairway  leading  up  the  slope  from  the 
village  to  the  level  on  which  the  temple  stands  at 
the  foot  of  a  mountain,  that  we  might  well  have 
believed  we  approached  an  altar  devoted  to  the 
elder  worship  :  through  the  open  doorway  and  be 
tween  the  columns  of  the  portico  we  could  see  the 
priests  moving  to  and  fro,  and  the  voice  of  their 
chanting  came  out  to  us  like  the  sound  of  hymns  to 
some  of  the  deities  long  disowned ;  and  I  remem 
bered  how  Padre  L— —  had  said  to  me  in  Venice, 
"  Our  blessed  saints  are  only  the  old  gods  baptized 
and  christened  anew."  Within  as  without,  the  tem 
ple  resembled  the  Pantheon,  but  it  had  little  to  show 
us.  The  niches  designed  by  Canova  for  statues  of 
the  saints  are  empty  yet ;  but  there  are  busts  by 
his  own  hand  of  himself  and  his  brother,  the  Bishop 
Canova.  Among  the  people  was  the  sculptor's 
niece,  whom  our  guide  pointed  out  to  us,  and  who 
was  evidently  used  to  being  looked  at.  She  seemed 
not  to  dislike  it,  and  stared  back  at  us  amiably 
enough,  being  a  good-natured,  plump,  comely  dark- 
faced  lady  of  perhaps  fifty  years. 

Possagno  is  nothing  if  not  Canova,  and  our  guide, 
a  boy,  knew  all  about  him,  — how,  more  especially, 


POSSAGNO  261 

he  had  first  manifested  his  wonderful  genius  by 
modeling  a  group  of  sheep  out  of  the  dust  of  the 
highway,  and  how  an  Inglese  happening  along  in 
his  carriage,  saw  the  boy's  work  and  gave  him  a 
plateful  of  gold  napoleons.  I  dare  say  this  is  as 
near  the  truth  as  most  facts.  And  is  it  not  better 
for  Canova  to  have  begun  in  this  way  than  to  have 
poorly  picked  up  the  rudiments  of  his  art  in  the 
workshop  of  his  father,  a  maker  of  altar-pieces  and 
the  like  for  country  churches  ?  The  Canova  family 
has  intermarried  with  the  Venetian  nobility,  and 
will  not  credit  those  stories  of  Canqva's  beginnings 
which  his  townsmen  so  fondly  cherish.  I  believe 
they  would  even  distrust  the  butter  lion  with  which 
the  boy  sculptor  is  said  to  have  adorned  the  table 
of  the  noble  Falier,  and  first  won  his  notice. 

Besides  the  temple  at  Possagno,  there  is  a  very 
pretty  gallery  containing  casts  of  all  Canova's 
works.  It  is  an  interesting  place,  where  Psyches 
and  Cupids  flutter,  where  Venuses  present  them 
selves  in  every  variety  of  attitude,  where  Sorrows 
sit  upon  hard,  straight-backed  classic  chairs,  and 
mourn  in  the  society  of  faithful  Storks  ;  where  the 
Bereft  of  this  century  surround  deathbeds  in  Greek 
costume  appropriate  to  the  scene  ;  where  Muses  and 
Graces  sweetly  pose  themselves  and  insipidly  smile, 
and  where  the  Dancers  and  Passions,  though  na- 
keder,  are  no  wickeder  than  the  Saints  and  Virtues. 
In  all,  there  are  a  hundred  and  ninety-five  pieces  in 
the  gallery,  and  among  the  rest  the  statue  named 
George  Washington,  which  was  sent  to  America  in 


262  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

1820,  and  afterwards  destroyed  by  fire  in  the  Capi 
tol.  The  figure  is  in  a  sitting  posture ;  naturally,  it 
is  in  the  dress  of  a  Roman  general ;  and  if  it  does 
not  look  much  like  George  Washington,  it  does  re 
semble  Julius  Caesar. 

The  custodian  of  the  gallery  had  been  Canova's 
body-servant,  and  he  loved  to  talk  of  his  master. 
He  had  so  far  imbibed  the  family  spirit  that  he  did 
not  like  to  allow  that  Canova  had  ever  been  other 
than  rich  and  grand,  and  he  begged  us  not  to  be 
lieve  the  idle  stories  of  his  first  essays  in  art.  He 
was  delighted  with  our  interest  in  the  Cassarean 
Washington,  and  our  pleasure  in  the  whole  gallery, 
which  we  viewed  with  the  homage  due  to  the  man 
who  had  rescued  the  world  from  Swaggering  in 
sculpture.  When  we  were  satisfied,  he  invited  us, 
with  his  mistress's  permission,  into  the  house  of  the 
Canovas  adjoining  the  gallery  ;  and  there  we  saw 
many  paintings  by  the  sculptor,  —  pausing  longest 
in  a  lovely  little  room  decorated  after  the  Pompeian 
manner  with  scherzi  in  miniature  panels  represent 
ing  the  jocose  classic  usualities  :  Cupids  escaping 
from  cages,  and  being  sold  from  them,  and  playing 
many  pranks  and  games  with  Nymphs  and  Graces. 

Then  Canova  was  done,  and  Possagno  was  fin 
ished  ;  and  we  resumed  our  way  to  Treviso,  a  town 
nearly  as  much  porticoed  as  Padua,  and  having  a 
memory  and  hardly  any  other  consciousness.  The 
Duomo,  which  is  perhaps  the  ugliest  duomo  in  the 
world,  contains  an  "  Annunciation  "  by  Titian,  one 
of  his  best  paintings ;  and  in  the  Monte  di  Pieta  is 


POSSAGNO  263 

the  beautiful  "  Entombment "  by  which  Giorgione 
is  perhaps  most  worthily  remembered.  The  church 
of  San  Nicolo  is  interesting  from  its  quaint  frescoes 
by  the  school  of  Giotto.  At  the  railway  station  an 
admirable  old  man  sells  the  most  delicious  white 
and  purple  grapes. 


-.. 


't 


V.   COMO 

MY  visit  to  Lake  Como  has  become  to  me  a 
dream  of  summer,  —  a  vision  that  remains 
faded  the  whole  year  round,  till  the  blazing  heats  of 
July  bring  out  the  sympathetic  tints  in  which  it  was 
vividly  painted.  Then  I  behold  myself  again  in 
burning  Milan,  amidst  noises  and  fervors  and  bustle 
that  seem  intolerable  after  my  first  six  months  in 
tranquil,  cool,  mute  Venice.  Looking  at  the  great 
white  Cathedral,  with  its  infinite  pinnacles  piercing 
the  cloudless  blue,  and  gathering  the  fierce  sun 
upon  it,  I  half  expect  to  see  the  whole  mass  cal 
cined  by  the  heat,  and  crumbling,  statue  by  statue, 
finial  by  finial,  arch  by  arch,  into  a  vast  heap  of  lime 
on  the  Piazza.,  with  a  few  charred  English  tourists 
blackening  here  and  there  upon  the  ruin,  and  con 
tributing  a  smell  of  burnt  leather  and  Scotch  tweed 


COMO  265 

to  the  horror  of  the  scene.  All  round  Milan  smokes 
the  great  Lombard  plain,  and  to  the  north  rises 
Monte  Rosa,  her  dark  head  coifed  with  tantalizing 
snows  as  with  a  peasant's  white  linen  kerchief. 
And  I  am  walking  out  upon  that  fuming  plain  as 
far  as  to  the  Arco  della  Pace,  on  which  the  bronze 
horses  may  melt  any  minute  ;  or  am  I  sweltering 
through  the  city's  noonday  streets,  in  search  of 
Sant'  Ambrogio,  or  the  Cenacolo  of  Da  Vinci,  or 
what  know  I  ?  Coming  back  to  our  hotel,  "  Alia 
Bella  Venezia,"  and  greeted  on  entering  by  the  im 
mense  fresco  which  covers  one  whole  side  of  the 
court,  it  appeared  to  my  friend  and  me  no  wonder 
that  Garibaldi  should  look  so  longingly  from  the 
prow  of  a  gondola  toward  the  airy  towers  and  bal 
loon-like  domes  that  swim  above  the  unattainable 
lagoons  of  Venice,  where  the  Austrian  then  lorded 
it  in  coolness  and  quietness,  while  hot,  red-shirted 
Italy  was  shut  out  upon  the  dusty  plains  and  stony 
hills.  Our  desire  for  water  became  insufferable  ; 
we  paid  our  modest  bills,  and  at  six  o'clock  we  took 
the  train  for  Como,  where  we  arrived  about  the 
hour  when  Don  Abbondio,  walking  down  the  lonely 
path  with  his  book  of  'devotions  in  his  hand,  gave 
himself  to  the  Devil  on  meeting  the  bravos  of  Don 
Rodrigo.  I  counsel  the  reader  to  turn  to  "  I  Pro- 
messi  Sposi,"  if  he  would  know  how  all  the  lovely 
Como  country  looks  at  that  hour.  For  me,  the 
ride  through  the  evening  landscape,  and  the  faint 
sentiment  of  pensiveness  provoked  by  the  smell  of 
the  ripening  maize,  which  exhales  the  same  sweet- 


266  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

ness  on  the  way  to  Como  that  it  does  on  any  Ohio 
bottom-land,  have  given  me  an  appetite,  and  I  am 
to  dine  before  wooing  the  descriptive  Muse. 

After  dinner,  we  find  at  the  door  of  the  hotel  an 
English  architect  whom  we  know,  and  we  take  a 
boat  together  for  a  moonlight  row  upon  the  lake, 
and  voyage  far  up  the  placid  water  through  air 
that  bathes  our  heated  senses  like  dew.  How  far 
we  have  left  Milan  behind !  On  the  lake  lies  the 
moon,  but  the  hills  are  held  by  mysterious  shadows, 
which  for  the  time  are  as  substantial  to  us  as  the 
hills  themselves.  Hints  of  habitation  appear  in 
the  twinkling  lights  along  the  water's  edge,  and  we 
suspect  an  alabaster  lamp  in  every  casement,  and 
in  every  invisible  house  a  villa  such  as  Claude  Mel- 
notte  described  to  Pauline,  —  and  some  one  mouths 
that  well-worn  fustian. 

The  town  of  Como  lies,  a  swarm  of  lights,  behind 
us  ;  the  hills  and  shadows  gloom  around  ;  the  lake 
is  a  sheet  of  tremulous  silver.  There  is  no  telling 
how  we  get  back  to  our  hotel,  or  with  what  satis 
fied  hearts  we  fall  asleep  in  our  room  there.  The 
steamer  starts  for  the  head  of  the  lake  at  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  we  go  on  board  at  that 
hour. 

There  is  some  pretense  of  shelter  in  the  awning 
stretched  over  the  after  part  of  the  boat  ;  but  we 
do  not  feel  the  need  of  it  in  the  fresh  morning  air, 
and  we  get  as  near  the  bow  as  possible,  that  we 
may  be  the  very  first  to  enjoy  the  famous  beauty  of 
the  scenes  opening  before  us.  A  few  sails  dot  the 


ii 


A   LITTLE  HARBOR,  COMO 


COMO  .      267 

water,  and  everywhere  there  are  small,  canopied 
rovvboats,  such  as  we  went  pleasuring  in  last  night. 
We  reach  a  bend  in  the  lake,  and  all  the  roofs  and 
towers  of  the  city  of  Como  pass  from  view,  as  if 
they  had  been  so  much  architecture  painted  on  a 
scene  and  shifted  out  of  sight  at  a  theatre.  But 
other  roofs  and  towers  constantly  succeed  them, 
not  less  lovely  and  picturesque  than  they,  with 
every  curve  of  the  many-curving  lake.  We  advance 
oVer  charming  expanses  of  water  lying  between 
lofty  hills ;  and  as  the  lake  is  narrow,  the  voyage  is 
like  that  of  a  winding  river.  Wherever  the  hills  do 
not  descend  sheer  into  Comp,  a  pretty  town  nestles 
on  the  brink,  or,  if  not  a  town,  then  a  villa,  or  else  a 
cottage,  if  there  is  room  for  nothing  more.  Many 
little  towns  climb  the  heights  half  way,  and  where 
the  hills  are  green  and  cultivated  in  vines  or  olives, 
peasants'  houses  scale  them  to  the  crest.  They 
grow  loftier  and  loftier  as  we  leave  our  starting- 
place  farther  behind,  and  as  we  draw  near  Colico 
they  wear  light  wreaths  of  cloud  and  snow.  So 
cool  a  breeze  has  drawn  down  between  them  all  the 
way  that  we  fancy  it  to  have  come  from  them  till 
we  stop  at  Colico,  and  find  that,  but  for  the  efforts 
of  our  honest  engine,  sweating  and  toiling  in  the 
dark  below,  we  should  have  had  no  current  of  air. 
A  burning  calm  is  in  the  atmosphere,  and  on  the 
broad,  flat  valley,  —  out  of  which  a  marshy  stream 
oozes  into  the  lake,  —  and  on  the  snow-crowned  hills 
upon  the  left,  and  on  the  dirty  village  of  Colico 
upon  the  right,  and  on  the  indolent  beggars  waiting 


268  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

to  welcome  us,  and  sunning  their  goitres  at  the 
landing. 

The  name  Colico,  indeed,  might  be  literally  taken 
in  English  as  descriptive  of  the  local  insalubrity. 
The  place  was  once  large,  but  it  has  fallen  away 
much  from  sickness,  and  we  found  a  bill  posted  in 
its  public  places  inviting  emigrants  to  America  on 
the  part  of  a  German  steamship  company.  And 
yet  Colico,  though  undeniably  hot,  and  openly 
dirty,  and  tacitly  unhealthy,  had  merits,  though  the 
dinner  we  got  there  was  not  among  its  virtues.  It 
had  an  accessible  country  about  it ;  that  is,  its 
woods  and  fields  were  not  impenetrably  walled  in 
from  the  vagabond  foot ;  and  after  we  had  dined 
we  went  and  lay  down  under  some  greenly  waving 
trees  beside  a  field  of  corn,  and  heard  the  plumed 
and  panoplied  maize  talking  to  itself  of  its  kindred 
in  America.  It  always  has  a  welcome  for  tourists 
of  our  nation  where  it  finds  us  in  Italy ;  and  some 
times  its  sympathy,  expressed  in  a  rustling  and 
clashing  of  its  long  green  blades,  or  in  its  strong 
sweet  perfume,  has,  as  already  hinted,  made  me 
homesick,  though  I  have  been  uniformly  unaffected 
by  potato-patches  and  tobacco-fields. 

From  where  we  lay  beside  the  cornfield,  we  could 
see,  through  the  twinkling  leaves  and  the  twinkling 
atmosphere,  the  great  hills  across  the  lake,  taking 
their  afternoon  naps,  with  their  clouds  drawn  like 
handkerchiefs  over  their  heads.  It  was  very  hot, 
and  the  red  and  purple  ooze  of  the  unwholesome 
river  below  "burnt  like  a  witch's  oils."  It  was  in- 


C  O  M  O  269 

deed  but  a  fevered  joy  we  snatched  from  Nature 
there  ;  and  I  am  afraid  that  we  got  nothing  more 
comfortable  from  sentiment,  when,  rising,  we  wan> 
dered  off  through  the  unguarded  fields  toward  a 
ruined  tower  on  a  hill.  It  must  have  been  a  relic  of 
feudal  times,  and  I  could  easily  believe  it  had  been 
the  hold  of  one  of  those  wicked  lords  who  used  to 
rule  in  the  terror  of  the  people  beside  peaceful  and 
happy  Como.  But  the  life,  good  or  bad,  was  utterly 
gone  out  of  it  now,  and  what  was  leJt  of  the  tower 
was  a  burden  to  the  sense.  A  few  scrawny  black 
berries  and  other  brambles  grew  out  of  its  fallen 
stones ;  harsh,  dust-dry  mosses  painted  its  weather 
worn  walls  with  their  blanched  gray  and  yellow. 
From  its  foot,  looking  out  over  the  valley,  we  saw 
the  road  to  the  Spliigen  Pass  lying  white-hot  in  the 
valley  ;  and  while  we  looked,  the  diligence  appeared, 
and  dashed  through  the  dust  that  rose  like  a  flame 
before.  After  that  it  was  a  relief  to  stroll  in  dirty 
byways,  past  cottages  of  saffron  peasants,  and  poor 
stony  fields  that  begrudged  them  a  scanty  vegeta 
tion,  back  to  the  steamer  blistering  in  the  sun. 

Now  indeed  we  were  glad  of  the  awning,  under 
which  a  silent  crowd  of  people  with  sunburnt  faces 
waited  for  the  departure  of  the  boat.  The  breeze 
rose  again  as  the  engine  resumed  its  unappreciated 
labors,  and,  with  our  head  toward  Como,  we  pushed 
out  into  the  lake.  The  company  on  board  was  such 
as  might  be  expected.  There  was  a  German  land 
scape-painter,  with  three  heart's-friends  beside  him  ; 
there  were  some  German  ladies;  there  were  the 


270  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

unfailing  Americans  and  the  unfailing  Englishman  ; 
there  were  some  French  people  ;  there  were  Italians 
from  the  meridional  provinces,  dark,  thin,  and  en 
thusiastic,  with  fat  silent  wives,  and  a  rhythmical 
speech  ;  there  were  Milanese  with  their  families,  out 
for  a  holiday,  —  round-bodied  men,  with  blunt  square 
features,  and  hair  and  vowels  clipped  surprisingly 
short ;  there  was  a  young  girl  whose  face  was  of  the 
exact  type  affected  in  rococo  sculpture,  and  at  whom 
one  gazed  without  being  able  to  decide  whether  she 
"was  a  nymph  descended  from  a  villa  gate,  or  a  saint 
come  from  under  a  broken  arch  in  a  church. 


STOPPING  AT  VICENZA,  VERONA, 
AND    PARMA 


4&>—j  v 

rNggMij  A^VP^P 
;  r?&^>»*« 


"  ' 


STOPPING  AT  VICENZA,  VERONA-,  AND  PARMA 


IT  was  after  sunset  when  we  arrived  in  the  birth 
place  of  Palladio,  which  we  found  a  fair  city  in 
the  lap  of  caressing  hills.  There  are  pretty  villas 
upon  these  slopes,  and  an  abundance  of  shaded  walks 
and  drives  about  the  houses  which  were  pointed  out 
to  us,  by  the  boy  who  carried  our  light  luggage  from 
the  railway  station,  as  the  property  of  rich  citizens 
"but  little  less  than  lords"  in  quality.  A  lovely 
grove  lay  between  the  station  and  the  city,  and  our 
guide  not  only  took  us  voluntarily  by  the  longest 
route  through  this,  but  after  reaching  the  streets  led 
us  by  labyrinthine  ways  to  the  hotel,  in  order,  he 
afterwards  confessed,  to  show  us  the  city.  He  was 


274  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

a  poet,  though  in  that  lowly  walk  of  life,  and  he  had 
done  well.  No  other  moment  of  our  stay  would 
have  served  us  so  well  for  a  first  general  impression 
of  Vicenza  as  that  twilight  hour.  In  its  uncertain 
glimmer  we  seemed  to  get  quite  back  to  the  dawn 
of  feudal  civilization,  when  Theodoric  founded  the 
great  Basilica  of  the  city;,  and  as  we  stood  before 
the  famous  Clock  Tower,  which  rises  light  and 
straight  as  a  mast  eighty-two  metres  into  the  air 
from  a  base  of  seven  metres,  the  wavering  obscurity 
enhanced  the  effect  by  half  concealing  the  tower's 
crest,  and  letting  it  soar  endlessly  upward  in  the 
fancy.  The  Basilica  is  greatly  restored  by  Palladio, 
and  the  cold  hand  of  that  friend  of  virtuous  poverty 
in  architecture  lies  heavy  upon  his  native  city  in 
many  places.  Yet  there  is  still  a  great  deal  of  Lom- 
bardic  architecture  in  Vicenza ;  and  we  walked 
through  one  street  of  palaces  in  which  Venetian 
Gothic  prevailed,  so  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  Grand 
Canal  had  but  just  shrunk  away  from  their  bases. 
When  we  threw  open  our  window  at  the  hotel,  we 
found  that  it  overlooked  one  of  the  city  gates,  from 
which  rose  a  Ghibelline  tower  with  a  great  bulging 
cornice,  full  of  the  beauty  and  memory  of  times  long 
before  Palladio. 

They  were  rather  troublous  times,  and  not  to  be 
recalled  here  in  all  their  circumstance  ;  but  I  think  it 
due  to  Vicenza,  which  is  now  little  spoken  of,  even 
in  Italy,  and  is  scarcely  known  in  America,  where 
her  straw-braid  is  bought  for  that  of  Leghorn,  to 
remind  the  reader  that  the  city  was  for  a  long  time 


VICENZA,  A  PALLADIAN    CORNER 


VICENZA,  VERONA,  PARMA     275 

a  republic  of  very  warlike  stomach.  Before  she  ar 
rived  at  that  state,  however,  she  had  undergone  a 
great  variety  of  fortunes.  The  Gauls  founded  the 
city  (as  I  learn  from  "  The  Chronicles  of  Vicenza," 
by  Battista  Pagliarino,  published  at  Vicenza  in  1563) 
when  Gideon  was  Judge  in  Israel,  and  were  driven 
out  by  the  Romans  some  centuries  later.  As  a 
matter  of  course,  Vicenza  was  sacked  by  Attila  and 
conquered  by  Alboin  ;  after  which  she  was  ruled  by 
some  lords  of  her  own,  until  she  was  made  an  im 
perial  city  by  Henry  I.  Then  she  had  a  govern 
ment  more  or  less  republican  in  form  till  Frederick 
Barbarossa  burnt  her,  and  "  wrapped  her  in  ashes," 
and  gave  her  to  his  vicar  Ecelino  da  Romano,  who 
"held  her  in  cruel  tyranny"  from  1236  to  1259. 
The  Paduans  next  ruled  her  forty  years,  and  the 
Veronese  seventy-seven,  and  the  Milanese  seventeen 
years  ;  then  she  reposed  in  the  arms  of  the  Venetian 
Republic  till  these  fell  weak  and  helpless  from  all 
the  Venetian  possessions  at  the  threat  of  Napoleon. 
Vicenza  belonged  again  to  Venice  during  the  brief 
Republic  of  1848,  but  the  most  memorable  battle 
of  that  heroic  but  unhappy  epoch  gave  her  back  to 
Austria.  Now  at  last,  and  for  the  first  time,  she  is 
Italian. 
Vicenza  is 

"  Of  kindred  that  have  greatly  expiated 
And  greatly  wept," 

and  but  that  I  so  long  fought  against  Ecelino  da 
Romano,  and  the  imperial  interest  in  Italy,  I  could 
readily  forgive  her  all  her  past  errors.  To  us  of  the 


276  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

Lombard  League,  it  was  grievous  that  she  should 
remain  so  doggishly  faithful  to  her  tyrant ;  though 
it  is  to  be  granted  that  perhaps  fear  had  as  much 
to  do  with  her  devotion  as  favor.  The  defense  of 
1848  was  greatly  to  her  honor,  and  she  took  an 
active  part  in  that  demonstration  against  the  Aus- 
trians  which  endured  from  1859  till  1866. 

Of  the  demonstration  we  travelers  saw  an  amus 
ing  phase  at  the  opera  which  we  attended  the  even 
ing  of  our  arrival  in  Vicenza.  "  Nabucodonosor  " 
was  the  piece  to  be  given  in  the  new  open-air  the 
atre  outside  the  city  walls,  whither  we  walked  under 
the  starlight.  It  was  a  pretty  structure  of  fresh 
white  stucco,  oval  in  form,  with  some  graceful 
archkectural  pretensions  without,  and  within  very 
charmingly  galleried  ;  while  overhead  it  was  roofed 
with  a  blue  dome  set  with  such  starry  mosaic  as 
never  covered  temple  or  theatre  since  they  used  to 
leave  their  houses  of  play  and  worship  open  to  the 
Attic  skies.  The  old  Hebrew  story  had,  on  this 
stage  brought  so  near  to  Nature,  effects  seldom 
known  to  opera,  and  the  scene  evoked  from  far-off 
days  the  awful  interest  of  the  Bible  histories,  —  the 
vague,  unfigured  oriental  splendor — the  desert - 
the  captive  people  by  the  waters  of  the  river  of 
Babylon  —  the  shadow  and  mystery  of  the  prophe 
cies.  When  the  Hebrews,  chained  and  toiling  on 
the  banks  of  the  Euphrates,  lifted  their  voices  in 
lamentation,  the  sublime  music  so  transfigured  the 
commonplace  words  that  they  meant  all  deep  and 
unutterable  affliction,  and  for  a  while  swept  away 


'in     R'   'iR'i        X'fc    '  '^     t 

!^li!«,:0|fl4l 

ilOlfMl      ill 


VICENZA,  VENETIAN   GOTHIC  BUILDINGS 


VICENZA,  VERONA,  PARMA     277 

whatever  was  false  and  tawdry  in  the  show,  and 
thrilled  our  hearts  with  a  rapture  rarely  felt.  Yet, 
as  but  a  moment  before  we  had  laughed  to  see 
Nebuchadnezzar's  crown  shot  off  his  head  by  a 
squib  visibly  directed  from  the  side  scenes,  — at  the 
point  when,  according  to  the  libretto,  "  the  thunder 
roars,  and  a  bolt  descends  upon  the  head  of  the 
king,"  —  so  but  a  moment  after  some  new  absurdity 
marred  the  illusion,  and  we  began  to  look  about  the 
theatre  at  the  audience.  We  then  beheld  that  act 
of  dimostrazione  which  I  have  mentioned.  In  one 
of  the  few  boxes  sat  a  young  and  very  beautiful 
woman  in  a  dress  of  white,  with  a  fan  which  she 
kept  in  constant  movement.  It  was  red  on  one 
side,  and  green  on  the  other,  and  gave,  with  the 
white  dress,  the  forbidden  Italian  colors,  while, 
looked  at  alone,  it  was  innocent  of  offense.  I  do 
not  think  a  soul  in  the  theatre  was  ignorant  of  the 
demonstration.  A  satisfied  consciousness  was  re 
flected  from  the  faces  of  the  Italians,  and  I  saw  two 
Austrian  officers  exchange  looks  of  good-natured 
intelligence,  after  a  glance  at  the  fair  patriot.  I 
wonder  what  those  poor  people  do,  now  they  are 
free,  and  deprived  of  the  sweet,  perilous  luxury  of 
defying  their  tyrants  by  constant  acts  of  subtle  dis 
dain  ?  Life  in  Venetia  must  be  very  dull  :  no  more 
explosion  of  pasteboard  petards ;  no  more  treason 
in  bouquets  ;  no  more  stealthy  inscriptions  on  the 
walls  —  it  must  be  insufferably  dull.  Ebbene,  pazi- 
enza  !  Perhaps  Victor  Emanuel  may  betray  them 
yet. 


2/8  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

A  spirit  of  lawlessness,  indeed,  seemed  to  per 
vade  the  whole  audience  in  the  theatre  that  night  at 
Vicenza,  and  to  extend  to  the  ministers  of  the  law 
themselves.  There  were  large  placards  everywhere 
posted,  notifying  the  people  that  it  was  forbidden  to 
smoke  in  the  theatre,  and  that  smokers  were  liable 
to  expulsion  ;  but  except  for  ourselves,  and  the  fair 
patriot  in  the  box,  I  think  everybody  there  was 
smoking,  and  the  policemen  set  the  example  of  an 
archy  by  smoking  the  longest  and  worst  cigars  of 
all.  I  am  sure  that  the  captive  Hebrews  all  held 
lighted  cigarettes  behind  their  backs,  and  that 
Nebuchadnezzar,  condemned  to  the  grass  of  the 
field,  conscientiously  gave  himself  up  to  the  Virginia 
weed  behind  the  scenes. 

Before  I  fell  asleep  that  night,  the  moon  rose  over 
the  top  of  the  feudal  tower  in  front  of  our  hotel, 
and  produced  some  very  pretty  effects  with  the 
battlements.  Early  in  the  morning  a  regiment  of 
Croats  marched  through  the  gate  below  the  tower, 
their  band  playing  "  The  Young  Recruit."  These 
advantages  of  situation  were  not  charged  in  our  bill ; 
but,  even  if  they  had  been,  I  should  still  advise  my 
reader  to  go,  when  in  Vicenza,  if  he  loves  a  pleasant 
landlord  and  a  good  dinner,  to  the  Hotel  de  la  Ville, 
which  he  will  find  almost  at  his  sole  disposition  for 
however  long  time  he  may  stay.  His  meals  will  be 
served  him  in  a  vast  dining-hall,  as  bare  as  a  barn 
or  a  palace,  but  for  the  pleasant,  absurd  old  paint 
ings  on  the  wall,  representing,  as  I  suppose,  Cleo 
patra  applying  the  Asp,  Susannah  and  the  Elders, 


VICENZA,  VERONA,  PARMA     279 

the  Roman  Lucrezia,  and  other  moral  and  appetiz 
ing  histories.  I  take  it  there  is  a  quaint  side-table 
or  two  lost  midway  of  the  wall,  and  that  an  old 
woodcut  picture  of  the  Most  Noble  City  of  Venice 
hangs  over  each.  I  know  that  there  is  a  screen  at 
one  end  of  the  apartment  behind  which  the  landlord 
invisibly  assumes  the  head  waiter  ;  and  I  suspect  that 
at  the  moment  of  sitting  down  at  meat,  you  hear 
two  Englishmen  talking  —  as  they  pass  along  the 
neighboring  corridor  —  of  wine,  in  dissatisfied  chest- 
tones.  This  hotel  is  of  course  built  round  a  court, 
in  which  there  is  a  stable  and — exposed  to  the 
weather  —  a  diligence,  and  two  or  three  carriages 
and  a  driver,  and  an  ostler  chewing  straw,  and  a 
pump  and  a  grape-vine.  Why  the  hotel,  therefore, 
does  not  smell  like  a  stable,  from  garret  to  cellar,  I 
am  utterly  at  a  loss  to  know.  I  state  the  fact  that 
it  does  not,  and  that  every  other  hotel  in  Italy  does 
smell  of  stable  as  if  cattle  had  been  immemorially 
pastured  in  its  halls,  and  horses  housed  in  its  bed 
chambers  —  or  as  if  its  only  guests  were  centaurs 
on  their  travels. 

From  the  Museo  Civico,  whither  we  repaired  first 
in  the  morning,  and  where  there  are  some  beautiful 
Montagnas,  and  an  assortment  of  good  and  bad 
works  by  other  masters,  we  went  to  the  Campo 
Santo,  which  is  worthy  to  be  seen,  if  only  because 
of  the  beautiful  Laschi  monument  by  Vela.  It  is 
nothing  more  than  a  very  simple  tomb,  at  the  door 
of  which  stands  a  figure  in  flowing  drapery,  with 
folded  hands  and  uplifted  eyes  in  an  attitude  exqui- 


280  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

sitely  expressive  of  grief.  The  figure  is  said  to  be 
the  portrait  of  the  widow  of  him  within  the  tomb, 
and  the  face  is  very  beautiful.  We  asked  if  the 
widow  was  still  young,  and  the  custodian  answered 
us  in  terms  that  ought  to  endear  him  to  all  women, 
if  not  to  our  whole  mortal  race,  —  "  Oh,  quite  young, 
yet.  She  is  perhaps  fifty  years  old." 

After  the  Campo  Santo  one  ought  to  go  to  that 
theatre  which  Palladio  built  for  the  representation 
of  classic  tragedy,  and  which  tries  to  be  a  perfect 
reproduction  of  the  Greek  theatre.  Alfieri  is  the 
only  poet  of  modern  times  whose  works  have  been 
judged  worthy  of  this  stage,  and  no  drama  has 
been  given  on  it  since  1857,  when  the  "  GEdipus 
Tyrannus  "  of  Sophocles  was  played.  We  found  it 
very  silent  and  dusty,  and  were  much  sadder  as  we 
walked  through  its  gayly  frescoed,  desolate  ante 
rooms  than  we  had  been  in  the  Campo  Santo. 
Here  used  to  sit,  at  coffee  and  bassett,  the  merry 
people  who  owned  the  now  empty  seats  of  the 
theatre,  — lord,  and  lady,  and  abb6,  —  who  affected 
to  be  entertained  by  the  scenes  upon  the  stage. 
Upon  my  word,  I  should  like  to  know  what  has  be 
come,  in  the  other  world,  of  those  poor  pleasurers 
of  the  past  whose  memory  makes  one  so  sad  upon 
the  scenes  of  their  enjoyment  here!  I  suppose 
they  have  something  quite  as  unreal,  yonder,  to 
satisfy  them  as  they  had  on  earth,  and  that  they 
still  play  at  happiness  in  the  old  rococo  way,  though 
it  is  hard  to  conceive  of  any  fiction  outside  of  Italy 
so  perfect  and  so  entirely  suited  to  their  unreality 


--     /»  '\\  N^r      \ 

J^-^rC,   *\   «  A  ^ 

^Mlte^i 

m^S  fff- 


tiiXlW  ^^£{K'./r  AX^^A?;^^  (fl 

IPUV    ^,c^';P     SJWjfl     ^  *r*^  ^   (^ 

<:^  -  -^  -ir^    ^^  **» 


THE  MARKET,  VICENZA 


VICENZA,  VERONA,  PARMA     281 

as  this  classic  theatre.  It  is  a  Greek  theatre,  for 
Greek  tragedies  ;  but  it  could  never  have  been  for 
popular  amusement,  and  it  was  not  open  to  the  air, 
though  it  had  a  sky  skillfully  painted  in  the  centre 
of  the  roof.  The  proscenium  is  a  Greek  facade,  in 
three  stories,  such  as  never  was  seen  in  Greece  ; 
and  the  architecture  of  the  three  streets  running 
back  from  the  proscenium,  and  forming  the  one  un 
changeable  scene  of  all  the  dramas,  is  —  like  the 
statues  in  the  niches  and  on  the  gallery  inclosing 
the  auditorium  —  Greek  in  the  most  fashionable 
Vicentine  taste.  It  must  have  been  but  an  oper 
atic  chorus  that  sang  in  the  semicircular  space  just 
below  the  stage  and  in  front  of  the  audience. 
Admit  and  forget  these  small  blemishes  and  aberra 
tions,  however,  and  what  a  marvelous  thing  Palla- 
dio's  theatre  is !  The  sky  above  the  stage  is  a 
wonderful  trick,  and  those  three  streets  —  one  in 
the  centre  and  serving  as  entrance  for  the  royal 
persons  of  the  drama,  one  at  the  right  for  the 
nobles,  and  one  at  the  left  for  the  citizens — pre 
sent  unsurpassed  effects  of  illusion.  They  are  not 
painted,  but  modeled  in  stucco.  In  perspective 
they  seem  each  half  a  mile  long,  but  entering  them 
you  find  that  they  run  back  from  the  proscenium 
only  some  fifteen  feet,  the  fronts  of  the  houses  and 
the  statues  upon  them  decreasing  in  recession  with 
a  well-ordered  abruptness.  The  semicircular  gallery 
above  the  auditorium  is  of  stone,  and  forty  statues 
of  marble  crown  its  colonnade,  or  occupy  niches 
between  the  columns. 


282  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

ii 

IT  was  curious  to  pass,  with  the  impression  left 
by  this  costly  and  ingenious  toy  upon  our  minds,  at 
once  to  the  Arena  in  Verona,  which,  next  to  the 
Coliseum,  has,  of  all  the  works  bequeathed  us  by 
the  ancient  Roman  world,  the  greatest  claim  upon 
the  wonder  and  imagination.  Indeed,  it  makes 
even  a  stronger  appeal.  We  know  who  built  the 
Coliseum,  but  in  its  unstoried  origin,  the  Veronese 
Arena  has  the  mystery  of  the  Pyramids.  Was  its 
founder  Augustus,  or  Vitellius,  or  Antoninus,  or 
Maximian,.  or  the  Republic  of  Verona  ?  Nothing  is 
certain  but  that  it  was  conceived  and  reared  by 
some  mighty  prince  or  people,  and  that  it  yet  re 
mains  in  such  perfection  that  the  great  shows  of 
two  thousand  years  ago  might  take  place  in  it  to 
day.  It  is  so  suggestive  of  the  fierce  and  splendid 
spectacles  of  Roman  times  that  the  ring  left  by  a 
modern  circus  on  the  arena,  and  absurdly  d wailed 
by  the  vast  space  of  the  oval,  had  an  impertinence 
which  we  hotly  resented,  looking  down  on  it  from 
the  highest  grade  of  the  interior.  It  then  lay  fifty 
feet  below  us,  in  the  middle  of  an  ellipse  five  hun 
dred  feet  in  length  and  four  hundred  in  breadth, 
and  capable  of  holding  fifty  thousand  spectators. 
The  seats  that  the  multitudes  pressed  of  old  are 
perfect  yet ;  scarce  a  stone  has  been  removed  from 
the  interior  ;  the  aedile  and  the  prefect  might  take 
their  places  again  in  the  balustraded  tribunes  above 
the  great  entrance  at  either  end  of  the  arena,  and 


VICENZA,  VERONA,  PARMA     283 

scarcely  see  that  they  were  changed.  Nay,  the 
victims  and  the  gladiators  might  return  to  the  cells 
below  the  seats  of  the  people,  and  not  know  they 
had  left  them  for  a  day ;  the  wild  beasts  might  leap 
into  the  arena  from  dens  as  secure  and  strong  as 
when  first  built.  The  ruin  within  seems  only  to 
begin  with  the  aqueduct,  which  was  used  to  flood 
the  arena  for  the  naval  shows,  but  which  is  now 
choked  with  the  dust  of  ages.  Without,  however, 
is  plain  enough  the  doom  which  is  written  against 
all  the  work  of  human  hands,  and  which,  unknown 
of  the  builders,  is  among  the  memorable  things 
placed  in  the  corner-stone  of  every  edifice.  Of  the 
outer  wall  that  rose  high  over  the  highest  seats  of 
the  amphitheatre,  and  encircled  it  with  stately 
corridors,  giving  it  vaster  amplitude  and  grace,  the 
earthquake  of  six  centuries  ago  spared  only  a  frag 
ment  that  now  threatens  above  one  of  the  narrow 
Veronese  streets.  Blacksmiths,  wagon-makers,  and 
workers  in  clangorous  metals  have  made  shops  of 
the  lower  corridors  of  the  old  arena,  and  it  is  friends 
and  neighbors  with  the  modern  life  about  it,  as 
such  things  usually  are  in  Italy.  Fortunately  for 
the  stranger,  the  Piazza.  Bra  flanks  it  on  one  hand, 
and  across  this  it  has  a  magnificent  approach.  It 
is  not  less  happy  in  being  little  known  to  senti 
ment,  and  the  traveler  who  visits  it  by  moonlight, 
has  a  full  sense  of  grandeur  and  pathos,  without 
any  of  the  sheepishness  attending  homage  to  that 
battered  old  coquette,  the  Coliseum,  which  so  many 
emotional  people  have  sighed  over,  kissing  and 
afterwards  telling. 


284  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

But  he  who  would  know  the  innocent  charm  of  a 
ruin  as  yet  almost  wholly  uncounted  by  travel,  must 
go  to  the  Roman  theatre  in  Verona.  It  is  not  a 
favorite  of  the  hand-books ;  and  we  were  decided 
to  see  it  chiefly  by  a  visit  to  the  Museum,  where, 
besides  an  admirable  gallery  of  paintings,  there  is  a 
most  interesting  collection  of  antiques  in  bronze  and 
marble  found  in  excavating  the  theatre.  The  ancient 
edifice  had  been  completely  buried,  and  a  quarter  of 
the  town  was  built  over  it,  as  Portici  is  built  over 
Herculaneum,  and  on  the  very  top  stood  a  Jesuit 
convent.  One  day,  some  children,  playing  in  tKe 
garden  of  one  of  the  shabby  houses,  suddenly  van 
ished  from  sight.  Their  mother  ran  like  one  mad 
(I  am  telling  the  story  in  the  words  of  the  peasant 
who  related  it  to  me)  to  the  spot  where  they  had 
last  been  seen,  and  fell  herself  into  an  opening  of 
the  earth  there.  The  outcry  raised  by  these  un 
fortunates  brought  a  number  of  men  to  their  aid, 
and  in  digging  to  get  them  out,  an  old  marble  stair 
way  was  discovered.  This  was  about  twenty-five 
years  ago.  A  certain  gentleman  named  Monga 
owned  the  land,  and  he  immediately  began  to  make 
excavations.  He  was  a  rich  man,  but  considered 
rather  whimsical  (if  my  peasant  represented  the 
opinion  of  his  neighbors),  and  as  the  excavation  ate 
a  great  deal  of  money  (mangiava  molti  soldi),  his 
sons  discontinued  the  work  after  his  death,  and 
nothing  has  been  done  for  some  time,  now.  The 
peasant  in  charge  was  not  a  person  of  imaginative 
mind,  though  he  said  the  theatre  (supposed  to  have 


VICENZA,  VERONA,  PARMA     285 

been  built  in  the  time  of  Augustus)  was  completed 
two  thousand  years  before  Christ.  He  had  a  fine 
conventional  admiration  of  the  work,  which  he  ex 
pressed  at  regular  intervals,  by  stopping  short  in  his 
course,  waving  both  hands  over  the  ruins,  and  cry 
ing  in  a  sepulchral  voice,  "QuaV  opera  !  " 

We  crossed  three  or  four  streets,  and  entered  at 
several  different  gates,  in  order  to  see  the  uncovered 
parts  of  the  work,  which  could  have  been  but  a  small 
proportion  of  the  whole.  The  excavation  has  been 
carried  down  thirty  and  forty  feet  below  the  founda 
tions  of  the  modern  houses,  revealing  the  stone  seats 
of  the  auditorium,  the  corridors  beneath  them,  and 
the  canals  and  other  apparatus  for  naval  shows,  as 
in  the  great  Arena.  These  works  are  even  more 
stupendous  than  those  of  the  Arena,  for  in  many 
cases  they  are  not  constructed,  but  hewn  out  of  the 
living  rock,  so  that  in  this  light  the  theatre  is  a 
gigantic  sculpture.  Below  all  are  cut  channels  to 
collect  and  carry  off  the  water  of  the  springs  in 
which  the  rock  abounds.  The  depth  of  one  of  these 
channels  near  the  Jesuit  convent  must  be  fifty  feet 
below  the  present  surface.  Only  in  one  place  does 
the  ancient  edifice  rise  near  the  top  of  the  ground, 
and  there  is  uncovered  the  arched  front  of  what  was 
once  a  family-box  at  the  theatre,  with  the  owner's 
name  graven  upon  the  arch.  Many  poor  little 
houses  have  of  course  been  demolished  to  carry  on 
the  excavations,  and  to  the  walls  that  joined  them 
cling  memorials  of  the  simple  life  that  once  inhab 
ited  them.  To  one  of  the  buildings  hung  a  mel- 


ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

ancholy  fireplace  left  blackened  with  smoke,  and 
battered  with  use,  but  witnessing  that  it  had  once 
been  the  heart  of  a  home.  It  was  far  more  touch 
ing  than  anything  in  the  elder  ruin  ;  and  I  think 
nothing  could  have  so  vividly  expressed  the  differ 
ence  which,  in  spite  of  all  the  resemblances  notice 
able  in  Italy,  exists  between  the  ancient  and  modern 
civilization,  as  that  family-box  at  the  theatre  and 
this  simple  fireside. 

I  do  not  now  remember  what  fortunate  chance  it 
was  that  discovered  to  us  the  house  of  the  Capu- 
lets,  and  I  incline  to  believe  that  we  gravitated  to 
ward  it  by  operation  of  well-known  natural  principles 
which  bring  travelers  acquainted  with  improbabili 
ties  wherever  they  go.  We  found  it  a  very  old  and 
time-worn  edifice,  built  round  an  ample  court,  and 
we  knew  it,  as  we  had  been  told  we  should,  by  the 
cap  carven  in  stone  above  the  interior  of  the  grand 
portal.  The  family,  anciently  one  of  the  principal 
of  Verona,  has  fallen  from  much  of  its  former  great 
ness.  On  the  occasion  of  our  visit,  Juliet,  very 
dowdily  dressed,  looked  down  from  the  top  of  a 
long,  dirty  staircase  which  descended  into  the  court, 
and  seemed  interested  to  see  us ;  while  her  mother 
caressed  with  one  hand  a  large  yellow  mastiff,  and 
distracted  it  from  its  first  impulse  to  fly  upon  us  poor 
children  of  sentiment.  There  was  a  great  deal  of 
stable  litter,  and  many  empty  carts  standing  about 
in  the  court ;  and  if  I  might  hazard  the  opinion 
formed  upon  these  and  other  appearances,  I  should 
say  that  old  Capulet  had  now  gone  to  keeping  a 


VICENZA,  VERONA,  PARMA     287 

hotel,  united  with  the  retail  liquor  business,  both  in 
a  small  way. 

Nothing  could  be  more  natural,  after  seeing  the 
house  of  the  Capulets,  than  a  wish  to  see  Juliet's 
Tomb,  which  is  visited  by  all  strangers,  and  is  the 
common  property  of  the  hand-books.  It  formerly 
stood  in  a  garden,  where,  up  to  the  beginning  of 
this  century,  it  served,  says  my  "  Viaggio  in  Italia," 
"  for  the  basest  uses,"  -  —  just  as  the  sacred  prison  of 
Tasso  was  used  for  a  charcoal  bin.  We  found  the 
sarcophagus  under  a  shed  in  one  corner  of  the  gar 
den  of  the  Orfanotrofio  delle  Franceschine,  and  had 
to  confess  to  each  other  that  it  looked  like  a  horse- 
trough  roughly  hewn  out  of  stone.  The  garden, 
said  the  boy  in  charge  of  the  moving  monument,  had 
been  the  burial-place  of  the  Capulets,  and  this  tomb 
being  found  in  the  middle  of  the  garden,  was  easily 
recognized  as  that  of  Juliet.  Its  genuineness,  as 
well  as  its  employment  in  the  ruse  of  the  lovers, 
was  proved  beyond  cavil  by  a  slight  hollow  cut  for 
the  head  to  rest  in,  and  a  hole  at  the  foot  "to 
breathe  through,"  as  the  boy  said.  Does  not  the 
fact  that  this  relic  has  to  be  protected  from  the  de 
predations  of  travelers,  who  could  otherwise  carry  it 
away  piecemeal,  speak  eloquently  of  a  large  amount 
of  vulgar  and  rapacious  innocence  drifting  about  the 
world  ? 

It  is  well  to  see  even  such  idle  and  foolish  curi 
osities,  however,  in  a  city  like  Verona,  for  the  mere 
going  to  and  fro  in  search  of  them  through  her 
streets  is  full  of  instruction  and  delight.  To  my 


288  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

mind,  no  city  has  a  fairer  place  than  she  that  sits 
beside  the  eager  Adige,  and  breathes  the  keen  air 
of  mountains  white  with  snows  in  winter,  green  and 
purple  with  vineyards  in  summer,  and  forever  rich 
with  marble.  Around  Verona  stretch  those  gar 
dened  plains  of  Lombardy,  on  which  Nature,  who 
dotes  on  Italy,  and  seems  but  a  stepmother  to  all 
transalpine  lands,  has  lavished  every  gift  of  beauty 
and  fertility.  Within  the  city's  walls,  what  store 
of  art  and  history !  Her  market-places  have  been 
the  scenes  of  a  thousand  tragic  or  ridiculous 
dramas  ;  her  narrow  streets  are  ballads  and  legends 
full  of  love-making  and  murder ;  the  empty,  grass- 
grown  piazzas  before  her  churches  are  tales  that 
are  told  of  municipal  and  ecclesiastical  splendor. 
Her  nobles  sleep  in  marble  tombs  so  beautiful  that 
the  dust  in  them  ought  to  be  envied  by  living  men 
in  Verona;  her  lords  lie  in  perpetual  state  in  the 
heart  of  the  city,  in  magnificent  sepulchres  of  such 
grace  and  opulence,  that,  unless  a  language  be  in 
vented  full  of  lance-headed  characters,  and  Gothic 
vagaries  of  arch  and  finial,  flower  and  fruit,  bird 
and  beast,  they  can  never  be  described.  Sacred  be 
their  rest  from  pen  of  mine,  Verona  !  Nay,  while  I 
would  fain  bring  the  whole  city  before  my  reader's 
fancy,  I  am  loath  and  afraid  to  touch  anything  in  it 
with  my  poor  art :  either  the  tawny  river,  spanned 
with  many  beautiful  bridges,  and  murmurous  with 
mills  afloat  and  turned  by  the  rapid  current ;  or  the 
thoroughfares  with  their  passengers  and  bright 
shops  and  caffes ;  or  the  grim  old  feudal  towers ; 


THE  TOMBS,   VERONA 


VICENZA,  VERONA,  PARMA     289 

or  the  age-embrowned  palaces,  eloquent  in  their 
haughty  strength  of  the  times  when  they  were 
family  fortresses  ;  or  the  churches  with  the  red  pil 
lars  of  their  porticoes  resting  upon  the  backs  of 
eagle-headed  lions  ;  or  even  the  white-coated  garri 
son  (now  there  no  more),  with  its  heavy-footed  rank 
and  file,  its  resplendent  officers,  its  bristling  fortifi 
cations,  its  horses  and  artillery,  crowding  the  piaz 
zas  of  churches  turned  into  barracks.  Verona  is 
an  almost  purely  Gothic  city  in  her  architecture, 
and  her  churches  are  more  worthy  to  be  seen  than 
any  others  in  North  Italy,  outside  of  Venice.  San 
Zenone,  with  the  bronzes  on  its  doors  representing 
in  the  rudeness  of  the  first  period  of  art  the  inci 
dents  of  the  Old  Testament  and  the  miracles  of  the 
saints  —  with  the  allegorical  sculptures  surrounding 
the  interior  and  exterior  of  the  portico,  and  illus 
trating,  among  other  things,  the  creation  of  Eve 
with  absolute  literalness  —  with  its  fine  solemn 
crypt  in  which  the  dust  of  the  titular  saint  lies  en 
tombed  —  with  its  minute  windows,  and  its  massive 
columns  sustaining  the  roof  upon  capitals  of  every 
bizarre  and  fantastic  device  —  is  doubtless  most 
abundant  in  that  Gothic  spirit,  now  grotesque  and 
now  earnest,  which  somewhere  appears  in  all  the 
churches  of  Verona  ;  which  has  carven  upon  the 
facade  of  the  Duomo  the  statues  of  Orlando  and 
Oliviero,  heroes  of  romance,  and  near  them  has 
placed  the  scandalous  figure  of  a  pig  in  a  monk's 
robe  and  cowl,  with  a  breviary  in  his  paw ;  which 
has  reared  the  exquisite  monument  of  Guglielmo 


290  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

da  Castelbarco  before  the  church  of  St.  Anastasia, 
and  has  produced  the  tombs  of  the  Scaligeri  before 
the  chapel  of  Santa  Maria  Antica. 

I  have  already  pledged  myself  not  to  attempt  any 
description  of  these  tombs,  and  shall  not  fall  now. 
But  I  bought  in  the  English  tongue,  as  written 
at  Verona,  some  "  Notices  "  kept  for  sale  by  the 
sacristan,  "  of  the  Ancient  Churg  of  Our  Lady,  and 
of  the  Tombs  of  the  most  illustrious  Family  Della- 
Scala,"  and  from  these  I  think  it  no  dereliction  to 
quote  verbatim.  First  is  the  tomb  of  Can  Fran 
cesco,  who  was  "  surnamed  the  Great  by  reason 
of  his  valor."  "With  him  the  Great  Alighieri  and 
other  exiles  took  refuge.  We  see  his  figure  ex 
tended  upon  a  bed,  and  above  his  statue  on  horse- 
bac  with  the  vizor  down,  and  his  crest  falling 
behind  his  shoulders,  his  horse  covered  with  mail. 
The  columns  and  capitals  are  wonderful."  "Within 
the  Cemetery  to  the  right  leaning  against  the  walls 
of  the  church  is  the  tomb  of  John  Scaliger."  "  In 
the  side  of  this  tomb  near  the  wall  of  Sacristy,  you 
see  the  urn  that  encloses  the  ashes  of  Martin  L," 
"who  was  traitorously  killed  on  the  I7th  of  October 
1277,  by  Scaramello  of  the  Scaramelli,  who  wished  to 
revenge  the  honor  of  a  young  lady  of  his  family." 
"  The  Mausoleum  that  is  in  the  side  facing  the  Place 
encloses  the  Martin  II. 's  ashes.  .  .  .  This  building  is 
sumptuous  and  wonderful  because  it  stands  on  four 
columns,  each  of  which  has  an  architrave  of  nine 
feet.  On  the  beams  stands  a  very  large  square  of 
marble  that  forms  the  floor,  on  which  stands  the  urn 


ipwfitfi 


DOORWAY  OF  THE  DUOMO,  VERONA 


VICENZA,  VERONA,  PARMA     291 

of  the  Defunct.  Four  other  columns  support  the 
vault  that  covers  the  urn  ;  and  the  rest  is  adorned 
by  facts  of  Old  Testament.  Upon  the  Summit  is 
the  equestrian  statue  as  large  as  life."  Of  "Can 
Signorius,"  whose  tomb  is  the  most  splendid  of  all, 
the  ".Notices "  say :  "  He  spent  two  thousand 
florins  of  gold,  in  order  to  prepare  his  own  sepul 
chre  while  he  was  yet  alive,  and  to  surpass  the 
magnificence  of  his  predecessors.  The  monument 
is  as  magnificent  as  the  contracted  space  allows. 
Six  columns  support  the  floor  of  marble  on  which 
it  stands  covered  with  figures.  Six  other  columns 
support  the  top,  on  that  is  the  Scaliger's  statues. 
.  .  .  The  monument  is  surrounded  by  an  enclosure 
of  red  marble,  with  six  pillars,  on  which  are  square 
capitols  with  armed  Saints.  The  rails  of  iron  with 
the  Arms  of  the  Scala  are  worked  with  a  beauty 
wonderful  for  that  age,"  or,  I  may  add,  for  any  age. 
These  "rails"  are  an  exquisite  network  of  iron 
wrought  by  hand,  with  an  art  emulous  of  that  of 
Nicolo  Caparra  at  Florence.  The  chief  device  em 
ployed  is  a  ladder  (scala)  constantly  repeated  in  the 
centres  of  quatre-foils  ;  and  the  whole  fabric  is  still 
so  flexible  and  perfect,  after  the  lapse  of  centuries, 
that  the  net  may  be  shaken  throughout  by  a  touch. 
Four  other  tombs  of  the  Scaligeri  are  here,  among 
which  the  "  Notices  "  particularly  mention  that  of 
Alb'oin  della  Scala  :  "  He  was  one  of  the  Ghibelline 
party,  as  the  arms  on  his  urn  schew,  that  is  a  stair 
case  risen  by  an  eagle  —  wherefore  Dante  said,  In 
sulla  Scala  porta  il  santo  Uccello." 


292  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

I  should  have  been  glad  to  meet  the  author  of 
these  delightful  histories,  but  in  his  absence  we 
fared  well  enough  with  the  sacristan.  When,  a  few 
hours  before  we  left  Verona,  we  came  for  a  last  look 
at  the  beautiful  sepulchres,  he  recognized  us,  and 
seeing  a  sketch-book  in  the  party,  he  invited  us 
within  the  inclosure  again,  and  then  ran  and  fetched 
chairs  for  us  to  sit  upon  —  nay,  even  placed  chairs 
for  us  to  rest  our  feet  on.  Winning  and  exuberant 
courtesy  of  the  Italian  race  !  If  I  had  never  ac 
knowledged  it  before,  I  must  do  homage  to  it  now, 
remembering  the  sweetness  of  the  sacristans  and 
custodians  of  Verona.  They  were  all  men  of  the 
most  sympathetic  natures.  He  at  San  Zenone 
seemed  never  to  have  met  with  real  friends  till  we 
expressed  pleasure  in  the  magnificent  Mantegna, 
which  is  the  pride  of  his  church.  "  What  coloring !  " 
he  cried,  and  then  triumphantly  took  us  into  the 
crypt :  "  What  a  magnificent  crypt  !  What  works 
they  executed  in  those  days,  there ! "  At  San 
Giorgio  Maggiore,  where  there  are  a  Tintoretto  and 
a  Veronese,  and  four  horrible  swindling  big  pictures 
by  Romanino,  I  discovered  to  my  great  dismay  that 
I  had  in  my  pocket  but  five  soldi,  which  I  offered 
with  much  abasement  and  many  apologies  to  the 
sacristan  ;  but  he  received  them  as  if  they  had 
been  so  many  napoleons,  prayed  me  not  to  speak  of 
embarrassment,  and  declared  that  his  labors  in  our 
behalf  had  been  nothing  but  pleasure.  At  Santa 
Maria  in  Organo,  where  are  the  wonderful  intagli 
of  Fra  Giovanni  da  Verona,  the  sacristan  fully 


VICENZA,  VERONA,  PARMA     293 

shared  our  sorrow  that  the  best  pictures  could  not 
be  unveiled,  as  it  was  Holy  Week.  He  was  also 
moved  at  the  gradual  decay  of  the  intagli,  and  led 
us  to  believe  that,  to  a  man  of  so  much  sensibility, 
the  general  ruinous  state  of  the  church  was  an  in 
expressible  affliction  ;  and  we  rejoiced  for  his  sake 
that  it  should  possess  at  least  one  piece  of  art  in 
perfect  repair.  This  was  a  modern  work,  that  day 
exposed  for  the  first  time,  and  it  represented  in  a 
group  of  wooden  figures  The  Death  of  St.  Joseph. 
The  Virgin  and  Christ  supported  the  dying  saint 
on  either  hand  ;  and  as  the  whole  was  vividly  col 
ored,  and  rays  of  glory  in  pink  and  yellow  gauze 
descended  upon  Joseph's  head,  nothing  could  have 
been  more  impressive. 

in 

PARMA  is  laid  out  with  a  regularity  which  may 
be  called  characteristic  of  the  great  ducal  cities  of 
Italy,  and  which  it  fully  shares  with  Mantua,  Fer- 
rara,  and  Bologna.  The  signorial  cities,  Verona, 
Vicenza,  Padua,  and  Treviso,  are  far  more  pictur 
esque,  and  Parma  excels  only  in  the  number  and 
beauty  of  her  fountains.  It  is  a  city  of  gloomy 
aspect,  says  Valery,  who  possibly  entered  it  in  a 
pensive  frame  of  mind,  for  its  sadness  did  not  im 
press  us.  We  had  just  come  from  Modena,  where 
the  badness  of  our  hotel  enveloped  the  city  in  an 
atmosphere  of  profound  melancholy.  In  fact,  it 
will  not  do  to  trust  to  travelers  in  anything.  I,  for 
example,  have  just  now  spoken  of  the  many  beauti- 


294  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

ful  fountains  in  Parma  because  I  think  it  right  to 
uphold  the  statement  of  M.  Richard's  hand-book ; 
but  I  only  remember  seeing  one  fountain,  passably 
handsome,  there.  My  Lord  Corke,  who  was  at 
Parma  in  1754,  says  nothing  of  fountains,  and 
Richard  Lasells,  Gent.,  who  was  there  a  century 
earlier,  merely  speaks  of  the  fountains  in  the 
Duke's  gardens,  which,  together  with  his  Grace's 
"wild  beasts "  and  "exquisite  coaches,"  and  "ad- 
.mirable  Theater  to  exhibit  Operas  in,"  "the  Domo, 
whose  Cupola  was  painted  by  the  rare  hand  of  Cor- 
reggio,"  and  the  church  of  the  Capuchins,  where 
Alexander  Farnese  is  buried,  were  "the  Chief 
things  to  be  seen  in  Parma  "  at  that  day. 

The  wild  beasts  have  long  ago  run  away  with  the 
exquisite  coaches,  but  the  other  wonders  named  by 
Master  Lasells  are  still  extant  in  Parma,  together 
with  some  things  he  does  not  name.  Our  minds,  in 
going  thither,  were  mainly  bent  upon  Correggio  and 
his  works,  and  while  our  dinner  was  cooking  at  the 
admirable  Albergo  della  Posta,  we  went  off  to  feast 
upon  the  perennial  Hash  of  Frogs  in  the  dome  of  the 
Cathedral.  This  is  one  of  the  finest  Gothic  churches 
in  Italy,  and  vividly  recalls  Verona,  while  it  has  a 
quite  unique  and  most  beautiful  feature  in  the  three 
light-columned  galleries,  that  traversed  the  facade 
one  above  another.  Close  at  hand  stands  the  ancient 
Baptistery,  hardly  less  peculiar  and  beautiful ;  but, 
after  all,  it  is  the  work  of  the  great  painter  which 
gives  the  temple  its  chief  right  to  wonder  and 
reverence.  We  found  the  fresco,  of  course,  much 


NAVE  OF  THE  CATHEDRAL,  PARMA 


VICENZA,  VERONA,  PARMA     295 

wasted,  and  at  first  glance,  before  the  innumerable 
arms  and  legs  had  time  to  order  and  attribute  them 
selves  to  their  respective  bodies,  we  felt  the  justice 
of  the  undying  spite  which  called  this  divinest  of 
frescoes  a  guazzetto  di  rane.  But  in  another  mo 
ment  it  appeared  to  us  the  most  sublime  conception 
of  the  Assumption  ever  painted,  and  we  did  not  find 
Caracci's  praise  too  warm  where  he  says  :  "  And  I 
still  remain  stupefied  with  the  sight  of  so  grand  a 
work  —  everything  so  well  conceived  —  so  well 
seen  from  below  —  with  so  much  severity,  yet  with 
so  much  judgment  and  so  much  grace  ;  with  a  col 
oring  which  is  of  very  flesh."  The  height  of  the 
fresco  above  the  floor  of  the  church  is  so  vast  that 
it  might  well  appear  like  a  heavenly  scene  to  the 
reeling  sense  of  the  spectator.  Brain,  nerve,  and 
muscle  were  strained  to  utter  exhaustion  in  a  very 
few  minutes,  and  we  came  away  with  our  admiration 
only  half  satisfied,  and  resolved  to  ascend  the  cupola 
next  day,  and  see  the  fresco  on  something  like 
equal  terms.  In  one  sort  we  did  thus  approach  it ; 
and  as  we  looked  at  the  gracious  floating  figures  of 
the  heavenly  company  through  the  apertures  of  the 
dome,  they  did  seem  to  adopt  us  and  make  us  part 
of  the  painting.  But  the  tremendous  depth,  over 
which  they  drifted  so  lightly,  it  dizzied  us  to  look 
into  ;  and  I  am  not  certain  that  I  should  counsel 
travelers  to  repeat  our  experience.  Where  still  per 
fect,  the  fresco  can  only  gain  from  close  inspection, 
—  it  is  painted  with  such  exquisite  and  jealous  per 
fection,  —  yet  the  whole  effect  is  now  better  from 


296  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

below,  for  the  decay  is  less  apparent ;  and  besides, 
life  is  short,  and  the  stairway  by  which  one  ascends 
to  the  dome  is  in  every  way  too  exigent.  It  is  with 
the  most  astounding  sense  of  contrast  that  you  pass 
from  the  Assumption  to  the  contemplation  of  that 
other  famous  roof  frescoed  by  Correggio,  in  the 
Monastero  di  San  Paolo.  You  might  almost  touch 
the  ceiling  with  your  hand,  it  hovers  so  low  with  its 
counterfeit  of  vine-clambered  trellis-work,  and  its 
pretty  boys  looking  roguishly  through  the  embow 
ering  leaves.  It  is  altogether  the  loveliest  room 
in  the  world  ;  and  if  the  Diana  in  her  car  on  the 
chimney  is  truly  a  portrait  of  the  abbess  for  whom 
the  chamber  was  decorated,  she  was  altogether 
worthy  of  it,  and  one  is  glad  to  think  of  her  enjoy 
ing  life  in  the  fashion  amiably  permitted  to  nuns 
in  the  fifteenth  century.  What  curious  scenes  the 
gayety  of  this  little  chamber  conjures  up,  and  what 
a  vivid  comment  it  is  upon  the  age  and  people  that 
produced  it !  This  is  one  of  the  things  that  makes 
a  single  hour  of  travel  worth  whole  years  of  study, 
and  which  casts  its  light  upon  all  future  reading. 
Here,  no  doubt,  the  sweet  little  abbess,  with  the 
noblest  and  prettiest  of  her  nuns  about  her,  re 
ceived  the  polite  world,  and  made  a  cheerful  thing 
of  devotion,  while  all  over  transalpine  Europe  the 
sour-hearted  Reformers  were  destroying  pleasant 
monasteries  like  this.  The  light-hearted  lady-nuns 
and  their  gentlemen  friends  looked  on  heresy  as  a 
deadly  sin,  and  they  had  little  reason  to  regard  it 
with  favor.  It  certainly  made  life  harder  for  them 


PARMA,   BAPTISTERY  AND  CAMPANILP; 


VICENZA,  VERONA,  PARMA     297 

in  time,  for  it  made  reform  within  the  Church  as 
well  as  without,  so  that  at  last  the  lovely  Chamber 
of  St.  Paul  was  closed  against  the  public  for  more 
than  two  centuries. 

All  Parma  is  full  of  Correggio,  as  Venice  is  of 
Titian  and  Tintoretto,  as  Naples  of  Spagnoletto,  as 
Mantua  of  Giulio  Romano,  as  Vicenza  of  Palladio, 
as  Bassano  of  Da  Ponte,  as  Bologna  of  Guido  Reni. 
I  have  elsewhere  noticed  how  ineffaceably  and  ex 
clusively  the  manner  of  the  masters  seems  to  have 
stamped  itself  upon  the  art  of  the  cities  where  they 
severally  wrought,  —  how  at  Parma  Correggio  yet 
lives  in  all  the  sketchy  mouths  of  all  the  pictures 
painted  there  since  his  time.  One  might  almost 
believe,  hearing  the  Parmesans  talk,  that  his  manner 
had  infected  their  dialect,  and  that  they  fashioned 
their  lazy,  incomplete  utterance  with  the  careless 
lips  of  his  nymphs  and  angels.  They  almost  entirely 
suppress  the  last  syllable  of  their  words,  and  not  with 
a  quick  precision,  as  people  do  in  Venice  or  Milan, 
but  with  an  ineffable  languor,  as  if  language  were 
not  worth  the  effort  of  enunciation ;  while  they  rise 
and  lapse  several  times  in  each  sentence,  and  sink 
so  sweetly  and  sadly  away  upon  the  closing  vocable 
that  the  listener  can  scarcely  repress  his  tears.  In 
this  melancholy  rhythm,  one  of  the  citizens  re 
counted  to  me  the  whole  story  of  the  assassination 
of  the  last  Duke  of  Parma  in  1850 ;  and  left  me  as 
softly  moved  as  if  I  had  been  listening  to  a  tale  of 
hapless  love.  Yet  it  was  an  ugly  story,  and  after 
the  enchantment  of  the  recital  passed  away,  I  per- 


298  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

ceived  that  when  the  Duke  was  killed  justice  was 
done  on  one  of  the  maddest  and  wickedest  tyrants 
that  ever  harassed  an  unhappy  city. 

The  Parmesans  remember  Maria  Louisa,  Napo 
leon's  wife,  with  pleasant  enough  feelings,  and  she 
seems  to  have  been  good  to  them  after  the  manner 
of  sovereigns,  enriching  their  city  with  art,  and 
beautifying  it  in  many  ways,  besides  doing  works  of 
private  charity  and  beneficence.  Her  daughter  by 
a  second  marriage,  the  Countess  Sanvitali,  still 
lives  in  Parma ;  and  in  one  of  the  halls  of  the 
academy  of  Fine  Arts  the  Duchess  herself  survives 
in  the  marble  of  Canova.  It  was  she  who  caused 
the  two  great  pictures  of  Correggio,  the  St.  Jerome 
and  the  Madonna  della  Scodella,  to  be  placed  alone 
in  separate  apartments  hung  with  silk,  in  which  the 
painter's  initial  A  is  endlessly  interwoven.  "The 
Night,"  to  which  the  St.  Jerome  is  "  The  Day,"  is 
in  the  Gallery  at  Dresden,  but  Parma  could  have 
kept  nothing  more  representative  of  her  great 
painter's  power  than  this  "  Day."  It  is  "  the  bridal 
of  the  earth  and  sky,"  and  all  sweetness,  brightness, 
and  tender  shadow  are  in  it.  Many  other  excellent 
works  of  Correggio,  Caracci,  Parmigianino,  and  mas 
ters  of  different  schools  are  in  this  gallery,  but  it  is 
the  good  fortune  of  travelers,  who  have  to  see  so 
much,  that  the  memory  of  the  very  best  alone  dis 
tinctly  remains.  Nay,  in  the  presence  of  prime 
beauty  nothing  else  exists,  and  we  found  that  the 
church  of  the  Steccata,  where  Parmigianino's  sub 
lime  "  Moses  breaking  the  Tables  of  the  Law  "  is 


VICENZA,  VERONA,  PARMA     299 

visible  in  the  midst  of  a  multitude  of  other  figures 
on  the  vault,  really  contained  nothing  at  last  but 
that  august  presence. 

The  great  Farnese  Theatre  was,  as  we  have  seen, 
admired  by  Lasells  ;  but  Lord  Corke  found  it  a 
"useless  structure  "  though  immense.  "The  same 
spirit  that  raised  the  Colossus  at  Rhodes,"  he  says, 
"raised  the  theatre  at  Parma;  that  insatiable  spirit 
and  lust  of  Fame  which  would  brave  the  Almighty 
by  fixing  eternity  to  the  name  of  a  perishable  being." 
If  it  was  indeed  this  spirit,  I  am  bound  to  say  that 
it  did  not  build  so  wisely  at  Parma  as  at  Rhodes. 
The  playhouse  that  Ranuzio  I.  constructed  in  1628, 
to  do  honor  to  Cosmo  II.  de'  Medici  (pausing  at 
Parma  on  his  way  to  visit  the  tomb  of  San  Carlo 
Borromeo),  and  that  for  a  century  afterward  was  the 
scene  of  the  most  brilliant  spectacles  in  the  world, 
is  now  one  of  the  dismalest  and  dustiest  of  ruins. 
This  Theatrum  orbis  miracuhim  was  built  and  orna 
mented  with  the  most  perishable  materials,  and  even 
its  size  has  shrunken  as  the  imaginations  of  men 
have  contracted  under  the  strong  light  of  later  days. 
When  it  was  first  opened,  it  was  believed  to  hold 
fourteen  thousand  spectators  ;  at  a  later f$te  it  held 
only  ten  thousand ;  the  last  published  description 
fixes  its  capacity  at  five  thousand  ;  and  it  is  certain 
that  for  many  and  many  a  year  it  has  held  only  the 
stray  tourists  who  have  looked  in  upon  its  desolation. 
The  gay  paintings  hang  in  shreds  and  tatters  from 
the  roof ;  dust  is  thick  upon  the  seats  and  in  the 
boxes,  and  on  the  leads  that  line  the  space  once 


300  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

flooded  for  naval  games.  The  poor  plaster  statues 
stand  naked  and  forlorn  amid  the  ruin  of  which  they 
are  part ;  and  the  great  stage,  from  which  the  cur 
tain  has  rotted  away,  yawns  dark  and  empty  before 
the  empty  auditorium. 


DUCAL   MANTUA 


DUCAL   MANTUA 

* 

IN  that  desperate  depth  of  Hell  where  Dante 
beholds  the  Diviners  doomed  to  pace  with  back 
ward-twisted  faces,  and  turn  forever  on  the  past  the 
rainy  eyes  once  bent  too  daringly  on  the  future,  the 
sweet  guide  of  the  Tuscan  poet  points  out  among 
the  damned  the  daughter  of  a  Theban  king,  and 
discourses  to  his  charge :  — 

Manto  was  she  :  through  many  lands  she  went 
Seeking,  and  paused  where  I  was  born,  at  last. 
Therefore  I  choose  thou  be  on  me  intent 

A  little.  When  from  life  her  father  passed, 
And  they  of  Bacchus'  city  became  slaves, 
Long  time  about  the  world  the  daughter  cast. 

Up  in  fair  Italy  is  a  lake  that  laves 

The  feet  of  Alps  that  lock  in  Germany : 
Benaco  called.  .  .  . 

And  Peschiera  in  strong  harness  sits 

To  front  the  Brescians  and  the  Bergamasques, 
Where  one  down-curving  shore  the  other  meets. 


304  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

There  all  the  gathered  waters  outward  flow 
That  may  not  in  Benaco's  bosom  rest, 
And  down  through  pastures  green  a  river  go. 

As  far  as  to  Governo,  where,  its  quest 

Ended  at  last,  it  falls  into  the  Po. 

But  far  it  has  not  sought  before  a  plain 

It  finds  and  floods,  out-creeping  wide  and  slow 

To  be  the  steaming  summer's  offense  and  bane. 
Here  passing  by,  the  fierce,  unfriendly  maid 
Saw  land  in  the  middle  of  the  sullen  main, 

Wild  and  unpeopled,  and  here,  unafraid 
Of  human  neighborhood,  she  made  her  lair, 
Rested,  and  with  her  menials  wrought  her  trade, 

And  lived,  and  left  her  empty  body  there. 

Then  the  sparse  people  that  were  scattered  near 
Gathered  upon  that  island,  everywhere 

Compassed  about  with  swamps  and  kept^rom  fear. 
They  built  their  city  above  the  witch's  grave, 
And  for  her  sake  that  first  made  dwelling  there 

The  name  of  Mantua  to  their  city  gave. 

To  this  account  of  the  first  settlement  of  Mantua 
Virgil  adds  a  warning  to  his  charge  to  distrust  all 
other  histories  of  the  city's  foundation  ;  and  Dante 
is  so  thoroughly  persuaded  of  its  truth,  that  he  de 
clares  all  other  histories  shall  be  to  him  as  so  many 
lifeless  embers.  Nevertheless,  divers  chroniclers  of 
Mantua  reject  the  tradition  here  given  as  fabulous ; 
and  the  caref  ullest  and  most  ruthless  of  these  traces 
the  city's  origin,  not  to  the  unfriendly  maid,  but  to 
the  Etruscan  King  Ocno,  fixing  the  precise  date  of 
its  foundation  at  thirty  years  before  the  Trojan  war, 
one  thousand  five  hundred  and  thirty-nine  years 
after  the  creation  of  the  world,  three  hundred  years 
before  Rome,  and  nine  hundred  and  fifteen  years 


DUCAL    MANTUA  305 

after  the  flood,  while  Abimelech  was  judge  in  Israel. 
"And  whoever,"  says  the  compiler  of  the  "Flower 
of  the  Mantuan  Chroniclers  "  (it  is  a  very  dry  and 
musty  flower,  indeed),  citing  doughty  authorities 
for  all  his  facts  and  figures,  —  "whoever  wishes  to 
understand  this  more  curiously,  let  him  read  the 
said  authors,  and  he  will  be  satisfied." 

But  I  am  as  little  disposed  to  unsettle  the  reader's 
faith  in  the  Virgilian  tradition,  as  to  part  with  my 
own  ;  and  I  therefore  uncandidly  hold  back  the 
names  of  the  authorities  cited.  This  tradition  was 
in  fact  the  only  thing  concerning  Mantuan  history 
present  to  my  thoughts  as  I  rode  toward  the  city, 
one  afternoon  of  a  pleasant  Lombard  spring ;  and 
when  I  came  in  sight  of  the  ancient  hold  of  sorcery, 
with  the  languid  waters  of  its  lagoons  lying  sick  at 
its  feet,  I  recognized  at  least  the  topographical  truth 
of  Virgil's  description.  But  old  and  mighty  walls 
now  surround  the  spot  which  Manto  found  sterile 
and  lonely  in  the  heart  of  the  swamp  formed  by  the 
Mincio,  no  longer  Benaco  ;  and  the  dust  of  the  witch 
is  multitudinously  hidden  under  the  edifices  of  a 
city  whose  mighty  domes,  towers,  and  spires  make 
its  approach  one  of  the  stateliest  in  the  world.  It 
is  a  prospect  on  which  you  may  dwell  long  as  you 
draw  toward  the  city,  for  the  road  from  the  railway 
station  winds  through  some  two  miles  of  flat  meadow- 
land  before  it  reaches  the  gate  of  the  stronghold 
which  the  Italians  call  the  first  hope  of  the  winner 
of  the  land,  and  the  last  hope  of  the  loser  of  Italy. 
Indeed,  there  is  no  haste  in  any  of  the  means  of 


306  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

access  to  Mantua.  It  lies  scarce  forty  miles  south 
of  Verona,  and  you  are  three  hours  in  journeying 
this  distance  in  the  placid  railway  train,  — a  distance 
which  Romeo,  returning  to  Verona  from  his  exile 
in  Mantua,  no  doubt  traveled  in  less  time.  There 
is  abundant  leisure  to  study  the  scenery  on  the  way ; 
but  it  scarcely  repays  the  perusal,  for  it  lacks  the 
beauty  of  the  usual  Lombard  landscape.  The  soil 
is  red,  stony,  and  sterile ;  the  orchard  trees  are  scant 
and  slender,  and  not  wedded  with  the  caressing 
vines  which  elsewhere  in  North  Italy  garland  hap 
pier  trees  and  stretch  gracefully  from  trunk  to 
trunk.  Especially  the  landscape  looks  sad  and 
shabby  about  the  little  village  of  Villafranca,  where, 
in  1864,  the  dejected  prospect  seemed  incapable 
of  a  smile  even  in  spring  ;  as  if  it  had  lost  all  hope 
and  cheerfulness  since  the  peace  was  made  which 
confirmed  Venetia  to  the  alien.  It  said  as  plainly 
as  real  estate  could  express  the  national  sentiment, 
"  Come  si  fa  ?  Ci  vuol  pazienza !  "  and  crept  sullenly 
out  of  sight,  as  our  pensive  train  resumed  its  medi 
tative  progress.  No  doubt  this  poor  landscape  was 
imbued,  in  its  dull,  earthy  way,  with  a  feeling  that 
the  commg  of  Garibaldi  would  irrigate  and  fertilize 
it  into  a  paradise ;  as  at  Venice  the  gondoliers  be 
lieved  that  his  army  would  bring  in  its  train  cheap 
wine  and  hordes  of  rich  and  helpless  Englishmen 
bent  on  perpetual  tours  of  the  Grand  Canal  without 
agreement  as  to  price. 

But  within  and  without   Mantua  was  a  strong 
argument  against  possibility  of  change  in  the  polit- 


DUCAL  MANTUA  307 

ical  condition  of  this  part  of  Italy.  Compassed 
about  by  the  corruption  of  the  swamps  and  the 
sluggish  breadth  of  the  river,  the  city  is  no  less 
mighty  in  her  artificial  defenses  than  in  this  natural 
strength  of  her  position  ;  and  the  Croats  of  her  gar 
rison  were  as  frequent  m  her  sad,  handsome  streets 
as  the  priests  in  Rome.  Three  lakes  secure  her 
from  approach  upon  the  east,  north,  and  south  ;  on 
the  west  is  a  vast  intrenched  camp,  which  can  be 
flooded  at  pleasure  from  one  of  the  lakes ;  while  the 
water  runs  three  fathoms  deep  at  the  feet  of  the 
solid  brick  walls  all  round  the  city.  There  are  five 
gates  giving  access  by  drawbridges  from  the  town 
to  the  fortressed  posts  on  every  side,  and  command 
ing  with  their  guns  the  roads  that  lead  to  them. 
The  outlying  forts,  with  the  citadel,  are  four  in 
number,  and  are  each  capable  of  holding  from  two 
to  three  thousand  men.  The  intrenched  camp,  for 
cavalry  and  artillery,  and  the  barracks  of  the  city 
itself,  can  receive  a  garrison  of  from  thirty  to  forty 
thousand  men  ;  and  the  measureless  depths  of  the 
air  are  full  of  the  fever  that  fights  in  defense  of 
Mantua,  and  serves  with  equal  zeal  whoever  is  mas 
ter  of  the  place,  let  him  be  French,  Italian,  or  Aus 
trian,  so  only  that  he  have  an  unacclimated  enemy 
before  him. 

The  place  seemed  sunken,  that  dull  April  evening 
of  our  visit,  into  an  abiding  lethargy ;  as  if  perfect 
repose,  and  oblivion  from  the  many  troubled  past, 
—  from  the  renown  of  all  former  famine,  fire,  in 
trigue,  slaughter,  and  sack,  —  were  to  be  preferred 


308  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

by  the  ghost  of  a  once  populous  and  haughty  capi 
tal  to  the  most  splendid  memories  of  national  life. 
Certainly,  the  phantom  of  bygone  Mantuan  great 
ness  did  not  haunt  the  idle  tourists  who  strolled 
through  her  wide  streets,  enjoying  their  quiet 
beauty  and  regularity,  and  finding  them,  despite 
their  empty,  melancholy  air,  full  of  something  that 
reminded  of  home.  Coming  from  a  land  where 
there  is  a  vast  deal  of  length,  breadth,  and  rectitude 
in  streets,  as  well  as  human  nature,  they  could  not, 
of  course,  feel  that  wonder  in  the  Mantuan  avenues 
which  inspired  a  Venetian  ambassador,  two  centu 
ries  since,  to  write  the  Serenest  Senate  in  praise  of 
their  marvelous  extent  and  straightness ;  but  they 
were  still  conscious  of  a  certain  expansive  difference 
from  Gothic  Verona  and  narrow  Venice.  The  win 
dows  of  the  ground  floors  were  grated  to  the  prison- 
like  effect  common  throughout  Italy ;  but  people 
evidently  lived  upon  the  ground  floors,  and  at  many 
of  the  iron-barred  windows  fair  young  prisoners  sat 
and  looked  out  upon  the  streets,  or  laughed  and 
chatted  together.  About  the  open  doorways,  more 
over,  people  lounged  gossiping ;  and  the  interiors  of 
the  entry-halls,  as  they  appeared  to  the  passing 
glance,  were  clean,  and  had  not  that  forbidding, 
inhospitable  air  characteristic  of  most  house-en 
trances  in  North  Italy.  But  sculptured  Venice  and 
Verona  had  unfitted  the  travelers  for  pleasure  in 
the  stucco  of  Mantua ;  and  they  had  an  immense 
scorn  for  the  large  and  beautiful  palaces  of  which 
the  before-quoted  ambassador  speaks,  because  they 


DUCAL   MANTUA  309 

found  them  faced  with  cunningly  moulded  plaster 
instead  of  carven  stone.  Nevertheless,  they  could 
not  help  a  kind  of  half-tender  respect  for  the  old 
town.  It  shares  the  domestic  character  of  its  scenes 
with  the  other  ducal  cities,  Modena,  Parma,  and 
Ferrara ;  and  this  character  is  perhaps  proper  to 
all  long  and  intensely  municipalized  communities. 
But  Mantua  has  a  ghostly  calm  wholly  its  own  ;  and 
this  was  not  in  the  least  broken  that  evening  by 
chatters  at  thresholds,  and  pretty  laughters  at 
grated  windows.  It  was  very,  very  quiet.  Perhaps 
half  a  score  of  carriages  rumbled  by  us  in  our  long 
walk,  and  we  met  some  scattered  promenaders. 
But  for  the  most  part  the  streets  were  quite  empty  ; 
and  even  in  the  chief  piazza,  where  there  was  still 
some  belated  show  of  buying  and  selling,  and  about 
the  doors  of  the  caff  es,  where  there  was  a  good  deal 
of  languid  loafing,  there  was  no  indecency  of  noise 
or  bustle.  There  were  visibly  few  people  in  the 
place,  and  it  was  in  decay  ;  but  it  was  not  squalid 
in  its  lapse.  The  streets  were  scrupulously  neat 
and  clean,  and  the  stuccoed  houses  were  all  painted 
of  that  pale  saffron  hue  which  gives  such  unques 
tionable  respectability  to  New  England  towns.  Be 
fore  we  returned  to  our  lodgings,  Mantua  had  turned 
into  twilight  ;  and  we  walked  homeward  through  a 
placid  and  dignified  gloom,  nowhere  broken  by  the 
flare  of  gas,  and  only  remotely  affected,  here  and 
there,  by  the  light  of  lamps  of  oil,  faintly  twinkling 
in  a  disheartened  Mantuan  fashion. 

If  you  turn  this  pensive  light  upon  the  yellow 


310  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

pages  of  her  old  chroniclers,  it  reveals  pictures  fit 
to  raise  both  pity  and  wonder  for  the  past  of  this 
city,  —  pictures  full  of  the  glory  of  struggles  for 
freedom,  of  the  splendor  of  wise  princes,  of  the 
comfort  of  a  prosperous  and  contented  people,  of 
the  grateful  fruits  of  protected  arts  and  civilization  ; 
but  likewise  stained  with  images  of  unspeakable 
filth  and  wickedness,  baseness  and  cruelty,  incredi 
ble  shame,  suffering,  and  sin. 

Long  before  the  birth  of  Christ,  the  Gauls  drive 
out  the  Etruscans  from  Mantua,  and  aggrandize 
and  beautify  the  city,  to  be  in  their  turn  expelled 
by  the  Romans,  under  whom  Mantua  again  waxes 
strong  and  fair.  In  this  time,  the  wife  of  a  farmer 
not  far  from  the  city  dreams  a  marvelous  dream  of 
bringing  forth  a  laurel  bough,  and  in  due  time  bears 
into  the  world  the  chiefest  of  all  Mantuans,  with  a 
smile  upon  his  face.  This  is  a  poet,  and  they  call 
his  name  Virgil.  He  goes  from  his  native  city  to 
Rome,  when  ripe  for  glory,  and  has  there  the  good 
fortune  to  win  back  his  father's  farm,  which  the 
greedy  veterans  of  Augustus,  then  settled  in  the 
Cremonese,  had  annexed  to  the  spoils  bestowed 
upon  them  by  the  Emperor.  Later  in  this  Roman 
time,  and  only  three  years  after  the  death  of  Him 
whom  the  poet  all  but  prophesied,  another  grand 
event  marks  an  epoch  in  Mantuan  history.  Ac 
cording  to  the  pious  legend,  the  soldier  Longinus, 
who  pierced  the  side  of  Christ  as  he  hung  upon  the 
cross,  has  been  converted  by  a  miracle  ;  wiping 
away  that  precious  blood  from  his  spear-head,  and 


i&WI«p¥*?; 


rawst^rawKI 

1  i»iil(  d^vWnetp 
1  »ll'''*,«I:l Mi) 


CLOCK  TOWER,  MANTUA 


DUCAL   MANTUA  311 

then  drawing  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  he  is  sud 
denly  healed  of  his  near-sightedness,  and  stricken 
with  the  full  wonder  of  conviction.  He  gathers 
anxiously  the  drops  of  blood  from  his  weapon  into 
the  phial  from  which  the  vinegar  mixed  with  gall  was 
poured,  and,  forsaking  his  life  of  soldier,  he  wan 
ders  with  his  new-won  faith  and  his  priceless  trea 
sure  to  Mantua,  where  it  is  destined  to  work  famous 
miracles,  and  to  be  the  most  valued  possession  of 
the  city  to  all  after-time.  The  saint  himself,  preach 
ing  the  Gospel  of  Christ,  suffers  martyrdom  under 
Tiberius  ;  his  tongue  is  cut  out,  and  his  body  is 
burnt ;  and  his  ashes  are  buried  at  Mantua,  forgot 
ten,  and  found  again  in  after  ages  with  due  signs 
and  miraculous  portents.  The  Romans  give  a  civil 
tranquillity  to  Mantua;  but  it  is  not  till  three  cen 
turies  after  Christ  that  the  persecutions  of  the 
Christians  cease.  Then  the  temples  of  the  gods 
are  thrown  down,  and  churches  are  built ;  and  the 
city  goes  forward  to  share  the  destinies  of  the 
Christianized  empire,  and  be  spoiled  by  the  barbari-' 
ans.  In  407  the  Goths  take  it,  and  the  Vandals  in 
their  turn  sack  and  waste  it,  and  scatter  its  people, 
who  return  again  after  the  storm,  and  rebuild  their 
city.  Attila,  marching  to  destroy  it,  is  met  at 
Governo  (as  you  see  in  Raphael's  fresco  in  the  Vati 
can)  by  Pope  Leo  I.,  who  conjures  him  to  spare  the 
city,  and  threatens  him  with  Divine  vengeance  if 
he  refuse ;  above  the  pontiff's  head  two  wrathful 
angels,  bearing  drawn  swords,  menace  the  Hun 
with  death  if  he  advance ;  and,  thus  miraculously 


312  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

admonished,  he  turns  aside  from  Mantua  and  spares 
it.  The  citizens  successfully  resist  an  attack  of 
Alboin ;  but  the  Longobards  afterwards,  unre 
strained  by  the  visions  of  Attila,  beat  the  Mantuans 
and  take  the  city.  From  the  Lombards  the  Greeks, 
sent  thither  by  the  Exarch  of  Ravenna,  capture 
Mantua  about  the  end  of  the  sixth  century  ;  and 
then,  the  Lombards  turning  immediately  to  besiege 
it  again,  the  Greeks  defend  their  prize  long  and 
valiantly,  but  in  the  end  are  overpowered.  They 
are  allowed  to  retire  with  their  men  and  arms  to 
Ravenna,  and  the  Lombards  dismantle  the  city. 

Concerning  our  poor  Mantua  under  Lombard 
rule  there  is  but  little  known,  except  that  she  went 
to  war  with  the  Cremonese ;  and  it  may  be  fairly 
supposed  that  she  was,  like  her  neighbors,  com 
pletely  involved  in  foreign  and  domestic  discords  of 
every  kind.  That  war  with  the  Cremonese  was 
about  the  possession  of  the  river  Ollio  ;  and  the 
Mantuans  came  off  victors  in  it,  slaying  immense 
numbers  of  the  enemy,  and  taking  some  thousands 
of  them  prisoners,  whom  their  countrymen  ransomed 
on  condition  of  building  one  of  the  gates  of  Mantua 
with  materials  from  the  Cremonese  territory,  and 
mortar  mixed  with  water  from  the  disputed  Ollio. 
The  reader  easily  conceives  how  bitter  a  pill  this 
must  have  been  for  the  proud  Cremonese  gentle 
men  of  that  day. 

When  Charlemagne  made  himself  master  of 
Italy,  the  Mantuan  lands  and  Mantuan  men  were 
divided  up  among  the  brave  soldiers  who  had  helped 


DUCAL   MANTUA  313 

to  enslave  the  country.  These  warriors  of  Charle 
magne  became  counts  ;  and  the  contadini,  or  inhab 
itants  of  each  contado  (county),  became  absolutely 
dependent  on  their  will  and  pleasure.  It  is  recorded 
(to  the  confusion  of  those  who  think  primitive  bar 
barism  is  virtue)  that  the  corruption  of  those  rude 
and  brutal  old  times  was  great,  that  all  classes  were 
sunk  in  vice,  and  that  the  clergy  were  especially 
venal  and  abominable.  After  the  death  of  Charle 
magne,  in  the  ninth  century,  wars  broke  out  all 
over  Italy  between  the  factions  supporting  different 
aspirants  to  his  power ;  and  we  may  be  sure  that 
Mantua  had  some  share  in  the  common  quarrel.  As 
I  have  found  no  explicit  record  of  this  period,  I  dis 
tribute  to  the  city,  as  her  portion  of  the  calamities, 
at  least  two  sieges,  one  capture  and  sack,  and  a  de 
cimation  by  famine  and  pestilence.  We  certainly 
read  that,  fifty  years  later,  the  Emperor  Rudolph 
attacked  it  with  his  Hungarians,  took  it,  pillaged  it, 
and  put  great  part  of  its  people  to  the  sword.  Dur 
ing  the  siege,  some  pious  Mantuans  had  buried  (to 
save  them  from  the  religious  foe)  the  blood  of 
Christ,  and  part  of  the  sponge  which  had  held  the 
gall  and  vinegar,  together  with  the  body  of  St. 
Longinus.  Most  unluckily,  however,  these  excel 
lent  men  were  put  to  the  sword,  and  all  knowledge 
of  the  place  of  sepulture  perished  with  them. 

At  the  end  of  these  wars  Mantua  received  a  lord, 
by  appointment  of  the  Emperor,  and  the  first  lord's 
son  married  the  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Lorraine, 
from  which  union  was  born  the  great  Countess  Ma- 


314  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

tilda.  Boniface  was  the  happy  bridegroom's  name, 
and  the  wedding  had  a  wild  splendor  and  profuse 
barbaric  jollity  about  it  which  it  is  pleasant  enough 
to  read  of  after  so  much  cutting  and  slashing.  The 
viands  were  passed  round  on  horseback  to  the 
guests,  and  the  horses  were  shod  with  silver  shoes 
loosely  nailed  on,  that  they  might  drop  off  and  be 
scrambled  for  by  the  people.  Oxen  were  roasted 
whole,  and  wine  was  drawn  from  wells  with  buckets 
hung  on  silver  chains.  It  was  the  first  great  display 
of  that  magnificence  of  which  after  princes  of  Man 
tua  were  so  fond ;  and  the  wretched  hinds  out  of 
whose  sweat  it  came  no  doubt  thought  it  very  fine. 

Of  course  Lord  Boniface  had  his  wars.  There 
was  a  plot  to  depose  him  discovered  in  Mantua,  and 
the  plotters  fled  to  Verona.  Boniface  demanded 
them ;  but  the  Veronese  answered  stoutly  that 
theirs  was  a  free  city,  and  no  man  should  be  taken 
from  it  against  his  will.  Bjoniface  marched  to  at 
tack  them  ;  and  the  Veronese  were  such  fools  as 
to  call  the  Duke  of  Austria  to  their  aid,  promising 
submission  to  his  government  in  return  for  his  help. 
It  was  then  that  Austria  first  put  her  finger  into 
the  Italian  pasticcio,  where  she  kept  it  so  many 
centuries.  But  the  Austrian  governor  whom  the 
duke  set  over  the  Veronese  made  himself  intolera 
ble,  —  the  Austrian  governor  always  does,  —  and 
they  drove  him  out  of  the  city.  On  this  the  duke 
turns  about,  unites  with  Boniface,  takes  Verona,  and 
sacks  it. 

An  altogether  pleasanter  incident  of  Boniface's 


DUCAL   MANTUA  315 

domination  was  the  miraculous  discovery  of  the 
sacred  relics,  buried  and  lost  during  the  sack  of 
Mantua  by  the  Hungarians.  The  place  of  sepulture 
was  revealed  thrice  to  a  blind  pauper  in  a  dream. 
People  dug  where  he  bade  them  and  found  the 
relics.  Immediately  on  its  exhumation  the  Blood 
wrought  innumerable  miracles ;  and  the  fame  of  it 
grew  so  great  that  the  Pope  came  to  see  it,  attended 
by  such  concourse  of  the  people  that  they  were 
obliged  to  sleep  in  the  streets. 

After  the  death  of  Boniface  the  lordship  of  Man 
tua  fell  to  his  famous  daughter,  Matilda,  of  whom 
most  have  heard.  She  was  a  woman  of  strong  will 
and  strong  mind  ;  she  held  her  own,  and  rent  from 
others,  till  she  had  united  nearly  all  Lombardy 
under  her  rule.  She  was  not  much  given  to  the 
domestic  affections  ;  she  had  two  husbands  (succes 
sively),  and,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  divorced  them 
both  :  one  because  he  wished  to  share  her  sover 
eignty,  perhaps  usurp  it  ;  and  the  other  because  he 
was  not  warm  enough  friend  of  religion.  She  was 
a  great  friend  to  learning,  —  founded  libraries,  es 
tablished  the  law  schools  at  Bologna,  caused  the 
codification  of  the  canon  law,  corresponded  with 
distant  nations,  and  spoke  all  the  different  languages 
of  her  soldiers.  More  than  literature,  however,  she 
loved  the  Church  ;  and  fought  on  the  side  of  Pope 
Gregory  VII.  in  his  wars  with  the  Emperor  Henry 
IV.  Henry  therefore  took  Mantua  from  her  in 
1091,  and  up  to  the  year  mi  the  city  enjoyed  a 
kind  of  republican  government  under  his  protection. 


316  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

In  that  year  Henry  made  peace  with  Matilda,  and 
appointed  her  his  vice-regent  in  Italy ;  but  the  Man- 
tuans,  after  twenty  years  of  freedom,  were  in  no  hu 
mor  to  feel  the  weight  of  the  mailed  hand  of  this 
strong-minded  lady.  She  was  then,  moreover,  nigh 
to  her  death ;  and  hearing  that  her  physicians  had 
given  her  up,  the  Mantuans  refused  submission. 
The  great  countess  rose  irefully  from  her  death 
bed,  and  gathering  her  army,  led  it  in  person,  as 
she  always  did,  laid  siege  to  Mantua  by  land  and 
water,  entered  the  city  in  1114,  and  did  not  die  till 
a  year  after.  Such  is  female  resolution. 

The  Mantuans  now  founded  a  republican  govern 
ment,  having  unlimited  immunities  and  privileges 
from  the  Emperor,  whose  power  over  them  ex 
tended  merely  to  the  investiture  of  their  consuls. 
Their  republic  was  democratic,  the  legislative  coun 
cil  of  nine  rectors  and  three  curators  being  elective 
by  the  whole  people.  This  government,  or  some 
thing  like  it,  endured  for  more  than  a  century,  dur 
ing  which  period  the  Mantuans  seem  to  have  done 
nothing  but  war  with  their  neighbors  in  every  di 
rection,  —  with  the  Veronese  chiefly,  with  the  Cre- 
monese  a  good  deal,  with  the  Paduans,  with  the 
Ferrarese,  with  the  Modenese  and  the  Bolognese : 
indeed,  we  count  up  twelve  of  these  wars.  Like 
the  English  of  their  time,  the  Mantuans  were 
famous  bowmen,  and  their  shafts  took  flight  all 
over  Lombardy.  At  the  same  time  they  did  not 
omit  to  fight  each  other  at  home  ;  and  it  must  have 
been  a  dullish  kind  of  day  in  Mantua  when  there 


DUCAL   MANTUA  317 

was  no  street  battle  between  families  of  the  factious 
nobility.  Dante  has  peopled  his  Hell  from  the 
Italy  of  this  time,  and  he  might  have  gone  farther 
and  fared  worse  for  a  type  of  the  infernal  state. 
The  spectacle  of  these  countless  little  Italian  pow 
ers,  racked,  and  torn,  and  blazing  with  pride,  ag 
gression,  and  disorder,  within  and  without,  —  full  of 
intrigue,  anguish,  and  shame,  —  each  with  its  petty 
chief  of  victorious  faction  making  war  upon  the 
other,  and  bubbling  over  with  local  ambitions,  per 
sonal  rivalries,  and  lusts,  —  is  a  spectacle  which  the 
traveler  of  to-day,  passing  over  the  countless  for 
gotten  battlefields,  and  hurried  from  one  famous 
city  to  another  by  railroad,  can  scarcely  conjure  up. 
Parma,  Modena,  Bologna,  Ferrara,  Padua,  Mantua, 
Vicenza,  Verona,  Bassano,  —  all  are  now  at  peace 
with  each  other,  and  firmly  united  in  the  national 
sentiment  that  travelers  were  meant  to  be  eaten 
alive  by  Italians.  Poor  old  cities  !  it  is  hard  to  con 
ceive  of  their  bygone  animosities ;  still  harder  to 
believe  that  all  the  villages  squatting  on  the  long 
white  roads,  and  waking  up  to  beg  of  you  as  your 
diligence  passes,  were  once  embroiled  in  deadly  and 
incessant  wars. 

Besides  their  local  wars  and  domestic  feuds,  the 
Mantuans  had  troubles  on  a  much  larger  scale,  — 
troubles,  indeed,  which  the  Emperor  Barbarossa 
laid  out  for  all  Italy.  In  Carlyle's  "  History  of 
Frederick  the  Great  "  you  can  read  a  pleasanter  ac 
count  of  the  Emperor's  business  at  Roncaglia  about 
this  time  than  our  Italian  chroniclers  will  give  you. 


318  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

Truly,  one  would  hardly  guess,  from  that  picture 
of  Frederick  Redbeard  at  Roncaglia,  with  the 
standard  set  before  his  tent,  inviting  all  men  to 
come  and  have  justice  done  them,  that  the  Em 
peror  was  actually  at  Roncaglia  for  the  purpose  of 
conspiring  with  his  Diet  to  take  away  every  vestige 
of  liberty  and  independence  from  miserable  Italy. 
Among  other  cities  Mantua  lost  her  freedom  at  this 
Diet,  and  was  ruled  by  an  imperial  governor  and  by 
consuls  of  Frederick's  nomination  till  1167,  when 
she  joined  the  Lombard  League  against  him.  The 
leagued  cities  beat  the  Emperor  at  Legnano,  and 
received  back  their  liberties  by  the  treaty  of  Cos- 
tanza  in  1183,  after  which,  Frederick  having  with 
drawn  to  Germany,  they  fell  to  fighting  among 
themselves  again  with  redoubled  zeal,  and  rent 
their  league  into  as  many  pieces  as  there  had  been 
parties  to  it.  In  1236  the  Germans  again  invaded 
Lombardy,  under  Frederick  II.  ;  and  aided  by  the 
troops  of  the  Ghibelline  cities,  Verona,  Padua,  Vi- 
cenza,  and  Treviso,  besieged  Mantua,  which  sur 
rendered  to  this  formidable  union  of  forces,  thus 
becoming  once  more  an  imperial  city,  and  irrep 
arably  fracturing  the  Lombard  League.  It  does 
not  appear,  however,  that  her  ancient  liberties  were 
withdrawn  by  Frederick  II. ;  and  we  read  that  the 
local  wars  went  on  after  this  with  as  little  interrup 
tion  as  before.  The  wars,  went  on  as  usual,  and  on 
the  old  terms  with  Verona  and  Cremona,  and  there 
is  little  in  their  history  to  interest  us.  But  in  1256 
the  famous  tyrant  of  Padua,  Ecelino  da  Romano, 


DUCAL   MANTUA  319 

who  aspired  to  the  dominion  of  Lombardy,  gathered 
his  forces  and  went  and  sat  down  before  Mantua. 
The  Mantuans  refused  to  surrender  at  his  sum 
mons  ;  and  Ecelino,  who  had  very  little  notion  of 
what  the  Paduans  were  doing  in  his  absence,  swore 
that  he  would  cut  down  the  vines  in  those  pleasant 
Mantuan  vineyards,  plant  new  ones,  and  drink  the 
wine  of  their  grapes  before  ever  he  raised  the  siege. 
But  meantime  that  conspiracy  which  ended  in  Ece- 
lino's  ruin  had  declared  itself  in  Padua,  and  the 
tyrant  was  forced  to  abandon  the  siege  and  look  to 
his  dominion  of  other  cities. 

After  which  there  was  something  like  peace  in 
Mantua  for  twenty  years,  and  the  city  waxed  pros 
perous.  Indeed,  neither  industry  nor  learning  had 
wholly  perished  during  the  wars  of  the  republic, 
and  the  people  built  grist-mills  on  the  Mincio,  and 
cultivated  belles-lettres  to  some  degree.  Men  of 
heavier  science  likewise  flourished,  and  we  read  of 
jurists  and  astronomers  born  in  those  troublous 
days,  as  well  as  of  a  distinguished  physican,  who 
wrote  a  ponderous  dictionary  of  simples,  and  dedi 
cated  it  to  King  Robert  of  Naples.  But  by  far  the 
greatest  Mantuan  of  this  time  was  he  of  whom 
readers  have  heard  something  from  a  modern  poet. 
He  is  the  haughty  Lombard  soul,  "in  the  move 
ment  of  the  eyes  honest  and  slow,"  whom  Dante, 
ascending  the  heights  of  Purgatory,  beheld ;  and 
who  summoning  all  himself,  leaped  to  the  heart  of 
Virgil  when  he  named  Mantua :  "  O  Mantuan  !  I 
am  Sordello  of  thine  own  land  !  " 


320  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

Of  Virgil  the  superstition  of  the  Middle  Ages 
had  made  a  kind  of  wizard,  and  of  Sordcllo  the  old 
writers  fable  all  manner  of  wonders ;  he  is  both 
knight  and  poet,  and  has  adventures  scarcely  less 
surprising  than  those  of  Amadis  of  Gaul.  It  is 
pretty  nearly  certain  that  he  was  born  in  1 1 89  of 
the  Visconti  di  Goito,  in  the  Mantuan  country,  and 
that  he  married  Beatrice,  a  sister  of  Ecelino,  and 
had  amours  with  the  youngest  sister  of  this  tyrant, 
the  pretty  Cunizza,  whom  Dante  places  in  his  "  Par- 
adiso."  This  final  disposition  of  Cunizza,  whom  we 
should  hardly  think  now  of  assigning  a  place  among 
the  blest,  surprised  some  people  even  in  that  day, 
it  seems ;  for  an  old  commentator  defends  it,  saying  : 
"  Cunizza  was  always,  it  is  true,  tender  and  amo 
rous,  and  properly  called  a  daughter  of  Venus  ;  but 
she  was  also  compassionate,  benign,  and  merciful 
toward  those  unhappy  ones  whom  her  brother  cru 
elly  tormented.  Therefore  the  poet  is  right  in 
feigning  to  find  her  in  the  sphere  of  Venus.  For  if 
the  gentle  Cyprians  deified  their  Venus,  and  the 
Romans  their  Flora,  how  much  more  honestly  may 
a  Christian  poet  save  Cunizza"  The  lady,  whose 
salvation  is  on  these  grounds  inexpugnably  accom 
plished,  was  married  to  Count  Sanbonifazio  of 
Padua,  in  her  twenty-fourth  year ;  and  Sordello 
was  early  called  to  this  nobleman's  court,  having 
already  given  proofs  of  his  poetic  genius.  He  fell 
in  love  with  Cunizza,  whom  her  lord,  becoming  the 
enemy  of  the  Ecelini,  began  to  ill-treat.  A  curious 
glimpse  of  the  manners  and  morals  of  that  day  is 


A  STREET   IN   MANTUA 


DUCAL   MANTUA  321 

afforded  by  the  fact  that  the  brothers  of  Cunizza 
conspired  to  effect  her  escape  with  Sordello  from 
her  husband's  court,  and  that,  under  the  protec 
tion  of  Ecelino  da  Romano,  the  lovers  were  left 
unmolested. 

It  was  probably  after  this  amour  ended  that  Sor 
dello  set  out  upon  his  travels,  visiting  most  courts, 
and  dwelling  long  in  Provence,  where  he  learned  to 
poetize  in  the  Provencal  tongue,  in  which  he  there 
after  chiefly  wrote,  and  composed  many  songs.  He 
did  not,  however,  neglect  his  Lombard  language, 
but  composed  in  it  a  treatise  on  the  art  of  defending 
towns.  The  Mantuan  historian,  Volta,  says  that 
some  of  Sordello's  Provencal  poems  exist  in  manu 
script  in  the  Vatican  and  Chigi  libraries  at  Rome, 
in  the  Laurentian  at  Florence,  and  the  Estense  at 
Modena.  He  was  versed  in  arms  as  well  as  let 
ters,  and  he  caused  Mantua  to  be  surrounded  with 
fosses  five  miles  'beyond  her  walls  ;  and  the  republic 
having  lodged  sovereign  powers  in  his  hands  when 
Ecelino  besieged  the  city,  Sordello  conducted  the 
defense  with  great  courage  and  ability,  and  did  not 
at  all  betray  the  place  to  his  obliging  brother-in- 
law,  as  the  latter  expected.  Verci,  in  his  "  History 
of  the  Ecelini,"  says  :  "  The  writers  represent  this 
Sordello  as  the  most  polite,  the  most  gentle,  the 
most  generous  man  of  his  time,  of  middle  stature, 
of  beautiful  aspect  and  fine  person,  of  lofty  bearing, 
agile  and  dexterous,  instructed  in  letters,  and  a  good 
poet,  as  his  Provencal  poems  manifest.  To  these 
qualities  he  united  military  valor  in  such  degree  that 


322  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

no  knight  of  his  time  could  stand  before  him."  He 
was  properly  the  first  lord  of  Mantua,  and  the  re 
public  seems  to  have  died  with  him  in  1284. 

The  madness  which  comes  upon  a  people  about 
to  be  enslaved  commonly  makes  them  the  agents  of 
their  own  undoing.  The  time  had  now  come  for 
the  destruction  of  the  last  vestiges  of  liberty  in 
Mantua,  and  the  Mantuans,  in  their  assembly  of  the 
Four  Hundred  and  Ninety,  voted  full  power  into 
the  hands  of  the  destroyer.  That  Pinamonte  Bona- 
colsi  whom  Dante  mentions  in  the  twentieth  canto 
of  the  "Inferno,"  had  been  elected  captain  of  the 
republic,  and,  feigning  to  fear  aggression  from  'the 
Marquis  of  Ferrara,  he  demanded  of  the  people  the 
right  to  banish  all  enemies  of  the  state.  This  rea 
sonable  demand  was  granted,  and  the  captain  ban 
ished,  as  is  well  known,  all  enemies  of  Pinamonte 
Bonacolsi.  After  that,  having  things  his  own  way, 
he  began  to  favor  public  tranquillity,  abolished 
family  feuds  and  the  ancient  amusement  of  street- 
battles,  and  led  his  enslaved  country  in  the  paths 
of  material  prosperity  ;  for  which  he  was  no  doubt 
lauded  in  his  day  by  those  who  thought  the  Man 
tuans  were  not  prepared  for  freedom.  He  resolved 
to  make  the  captaincy  of  the  republic  hereditary  in 
the  Bonacolsi  family  ;  and  when  he  died,  in  1 293, 
his  power  descended  to  his  son  Bordellone.  This 
Bordellone  seems  to  have  been  a  generous  and  mer 
ciful  captain  enough,  but  he  loved  ease  and  plea 
sure  ;  and  a  rough  nephew  of  his,  Guido  Botticella, 
conspired  against  him  to  that  degree  that  Bordel- 


DUCAL   MANTUA  323 

lone  thought  best,  for  peace  and  quietness'  sake,  to 
abdicate  in  his  favor.  Guido  had  the  customary 
war  with  the  Marquis  of  Ferrara,  and  then  died, 
and  was  succeeded  by  his  brother  Passerino,  a  very 
bad  person,  whose  son  at  last  brought  his  whole 
family  to  grief.  The  Emperor  made  him  vicar  of 
Modena ;  and  he  used  the  Modenese  very  cruelly, 
and  shut  up  Francesco  Pico  and  his  sons  in  a  tower, 
where  he  starved  them,  as  the  Pisans  did  Ugolino. 
In  those  days,  also,  the  Pope  was  living  at  Avignon, 
and  people  used  to  send  him  money  and  other  com 
forts  there  out  of  Italy.  An  officer  of  Passerine's, 
being  of  Ghibelline  politics,  attacked  one  of  these 
richly  laden  emissaries,  and  took  his  spoils,  dividing 
them  with  Passerino.  For  this  the  Pope  naturally 
excommunicated  the  captain  of  Mantua,  and  there 
upon  his  neighbors  made  a  great  deal  of  pious  war 
upon  him.  But  he  beat  the  Bolognese,  the  most 
pious  of  his  foes,  near  Montevoglio,  and  with  his 
Modenese  took  from  them  that  famous  bucket,  about 
which  Tassoni  made  his  great  Bernesque  epic,  "  The 
Rape  of  the  Bucket  "  (La  Secchia  Rapitd),  and 
which  still  hangs  in  the  tower  of  the  Duomo  at  Mo 
dena.  Meantime,  while  Passerino  had  done  every 
thing  to  settle  himself  comfortably  and  permanently 
in  the  tyranny  of  Mantua,  his  worthless  son  Fran 
cesco  fell  in  love  with  the  wife  of  Filippino  Gonzaga. 
According  to  the  old  Mantuan  chronicles  the 
Gonzagas  were  of  a  royal  German  line,  and  had 
fixed  themselves  in  the  Mantuan  territory  in  770, 
where  they  built  a  castle  beyond  Po,  and  began  at 


324  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

once  to  take  part  in  public  affairs.  They  had  now 
grown  to  be  a  family  of  such  consequence  that  they 
could  not  be  offended  with  impunity,  and  it  was  a 
great  misfortune  to  the  Bonacolsi  that  Francesco 
happened  to  covet  Filippino  Gonzaga's  wife.  The 
insult  sank  deep  into  the  bitter  hearts  of  the  Gon- 
zagas  ;  and  the  head  of  that  proud  race,  Filippino's 
uncle,  Luigi  Gonzaga,  resolved  to  avenge  the  family 
dishonor.  He  was  a  secret  and  taciturn  man,  and 
a  pious  adulator  of  his  line  has  praised  him  for  the 
success  with  which  he  dissembled  his  hatred  of  the 
Bonacolsi,  while  conspiring  to  sweep  them  and  their 
dominion  away.  He  won  over  adherents  among 
the  Mantuans,  and  then  made  a  league  with  Can 
Grande  of  Verona  to  divide  the  spoils  of  the  Bo 
nacolsi  ;  and  so,  one  morning,  having  bribed  the 
guards  to  open  the  city  gates,  he  entered  Mantua 
at  the  head  of  the  banded  forces.  The  population 
was  roused  with  patriotic  cries  of  "  Long  live  the 
Mantuan  people!"  and,  as  usual,  believed,  poor 
souls,  that  some  good  was  meant  them  by  those 
who  came  to  overthrow  their  tyrants.  The  Bona 
colsi  were  dreaming  that  pleasant  morning  of  any 
thing  but  ruin,  and  they  offered  no  resistance  to  the 
insurrection  till  it  burst  out  in  the  great  square 
before  the  Castello  di  Corte.  They  then  made  a 
feeble  sally  from  the  castle,  but  were  swiftly  driven 
back,  and  Passerine,  wounded  to  death  under  the 
great  Gothic  archway  of  the  palace,  as  he  retreated, 
dropped  from  his  languid  hands  the  bridle-rein  of 
his  charger  and  the  reins  of  that  government  with 


DUCAL   MANTUA  325 

which  he  had  so  long  galled  Mantua.  The  unhappy 
Francesco  fled  to  the  cathedral  for  protection  ;  but 
the  Gonzagas  slew  him  at  the  foot  of  the  altar. 
Passerino's  brother,  a  bishop,  was  flung  into  a  tower  . 
to  starve,  that  the  Picos  might  be  avenged ;  and  the 
city  of  Mantua  was  liberated. 

In  that  day,  when  you  freed  a  city  from  a  tyrant, 
you  gave  it  up  to  be  pillaged  by  the  army  of  liber 
ation  ;  and  Mantua  was  now  sacked  by  her  deliv 
erers.  Can  Grande's  share  of  the  booty  alone 
amounted  to  a  hundred  thousand  gold  florins  (about 
two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars).  The 
Mantuans,  far  from  imitating  the  ungrateful  Pad- 
uans,  who,  when  the  Crusaders  liberated  them  from 
Ecelino,  grudged  these  brave  fellows  three  days' 
pillage  of  their  city,  and  even  wished  back  their  old 
tyrant,  —  the  Mantuans,  we  say,  seemed  not  in  the 
least  to  mind  being  devoured,  but  gratefully  elected 
the  Gonzaga  their  captain-general,  and  purchased 
him  absolution  from  the  Pope  for  his  crimes  com 
mitted  in  the  sack.  They  got  this  absolution  for 
twenty  thousand  gold  florins ;  and  the  Pope  prob 
ably  sold  it  cheap,  remembering  his  old  grudge 
against  the  Bonacolsi,  whom  the  Gonzaga  had  over 
thrown.  All  this  was  in  the  year  of  grace  1328. 

When  Luigi  Gonzaga  was  made  lord  of  Mantua, 
he  left  his  castle  beyond  Po,  to  dwell  in  the  city. 
In  this  castle  he  had  dwelt,  like  other  lords  of  his 
time,  in  the  likeness  of  a  king,  spending  regally, 
and  keeping  state  and  open  house  in  an  edifice 
strongly  built  about  with  walls,  encircled  with 


326  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

ditches  passable  by  a  single  drawbridge,  and 
guarded  day  and  night,  from  castle  moat  to  cas 
tle  crest,  by  armed  vassals.  Hundreds  ate  daily  at 
his  board,  which  was  heaped  with  a  rude  and  rich 
profusion,  and  furnished  with  carven  goblets  and 
plate  of  gold  and  silver.  In  fair  weather  the  ban 
quet-hall  stood  open  to  all  the  winds  that  blew ;  in 
foul,  the  guests  were  sheltered  from  the  storm  by 
curtains  of  oiled  linen,  and  the  place  was  lighted 
with  torches  borne  by  splendidly  attired  pages. 
The  great  saloons  of  the  castle  were  decked  with 
tapestries  of  Flanders  and  Damascus,  and  the  floor 
was  strewn  with  straw  or  rushes.  The  bed  in  which 
the  lord  and  lady  slept  was  the  couch  of  a  mon 
arch  ;  the  household  herded  together  in  the  empty 
chambers,  and  lay  upon  the  floor  like  swine.  The 
garden-fields  about  the  castle  smiled  with  generous 
harvests ;  the  peasant  lay  down  after  his  toil,  at 
night,  in  deadly  fear  of  invasion  from  some  neigh 
boring  state,  which  should  rob  him  of  everything, 
dishonor  his  wife  and  daughters,  and  slay  him  upon 
the  smoking  ruins  of  his  home. 

In  the  city  to  which  this  lord  repaired,  the 
houses  were  built  here  and  there  at  caprice,  without 
numbers  or  regularity,  and  only  distinguished  by 
the  figure  of  a  saint,  or  some  pious  motto  painted 
above  the  door.  Cattle  wandered  at  will  through 
the  crooked,  narrow,  and  filthy  streets,  which  rang 
with  the  clamor  of  frequent  feud,  and  reeked  with 
the  blood  of  the  embattled  citizens;  over  all  the 
squalor  and  wickedness  rose  the  loveliest  temples 


DUCAL   MANTUA  327 

that  ever  blossomed  from  man's  love  of  the  beauti 
ful  to  the  honor  and  glory  of  God. 

It  was  a  time  ignorant  of  the  simplest  comfort, 
but  debauched  with  the  vices  of  luxury ;  in  which 
cities  repressed  the  license  of  their  people  by  laws 
regulating  the  length  of  women's  gowns  and  the 
outlays  at  weddings  and  funerals.  Every  wild  mis 
deed  and  filthy  crime  was  committed,  and  punished 
by  terrible  penalties,  or  atoned  for  by  fines.  A 
fierce  democracy  reigned,  banishing  nobles,  razing 
their  palaces,  and  ploughing  up  the  salt-sown  sites ; 
till  at  last,  in  a  paroxysm  of  madness,  it  delivered 
itself  up  to  lords  to  be  defended  from  itself,  and 
was  crushed  into  slavery.  Literature  and  architec 
ture  flourished,  and  the  sister  arts  were  born  amid 
the  struggles  of  human  nature  convulsed  with  every 
abominable  passion. 

For  nearly  four  hundred  years  the  Gonzagas  con 
tinued  to  rule  the  city,  which  the  first  prince  of 
their  line,  having  well-nigh  destroyed,  now  rebuilt 
and  restored  to  greater  splendor  than  ever  ;  and  it 
is  the  Mantua  of  the  Gonzagas  which  travelers  of 
this  day  look  upon  when  they  visit  the  famous  old 
city.  Their  pride  and  their  wealth  adorned  it ;  their 
wisdom  and  prudence  made  it  rich  and  prosperous  ; 
their  valor  glorified  it ;  their  crimes  stain  its  annals 
with  infamy  ;  their  wickedness  and  weakness  ruined 
it  and  brought  it  low.  They  were  a  race  full  of 
hereditary  traits  of  magnificence,  but  one  reads  their 
history,  and  learns  to  love,  of  all  their  long  succes 
sion,  only  one  or  two  in  their  pride,  learns  to  pity 


328  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

only  one  or  two  in  their  fall.  They  were  patriotic, 
but  the  patriotism  of  despotic  princes  is  self-love. 
They  were  liberal  —  in  spending  the  revenues  of 
the  state  for  the  glory  of  their  family.  They  were 
brave,  and  led  many  nameless  Mantuans  to  die  in 
forgotten  battles  for  alien  quarrels  which  they  never 
understood. 

The  succession  of  the  Gonzagas  was  of  four  cap 
tains,  ending  in  1407  ;  four  marquises,  ending  in 
1484  ;  and  ten  dukes,  ending  in  1708. 

The  first  of  the  captains  was  Luigi,  as  we  know. 
In  his  time  the  great  Gothic  fabric  of  the  Castello 
di  Corte  was  built ;  and  having  rebuilt  the  portions 
of  the  city  wasted  by  the  sack,  he  devoted  himself, 
as  far  as  might  be  in  that  age,  to  the  arts  of  peace ; 
and  it  is  remembered  of  him  that  he  tried  to  cure 
the  Mantuan  air  of  its  feverish  unwholesomeness 
by  draining  the  swampy  environs.  During  his  time, 
Petrarch,  making  a  sentimental  journey  to  the 
birthplace  of  Virgil,  was  splendidly  entertained  and 
greatly  honored  by  him.  For  the  rest,  Can  Grande 
of  Verona  was  by  no  means  content  with  his  hun 
dred  thousand  golden  florins  of  spoil  from  the  sack 
of  the  city,  but  aspired  to  its  sovereignty,  declaring 
that  he  had  understood  Gonzaga  to  have  promised 
him  it  as  the  condition  of  alliance  against  the  Bo- 
nacolsi.  Gonzaga  construed  the  contract  differ 
ently,  and  had  so  little  idea  of  parting  with  his 
opinion,  that  he  fought  the  Scaligero  on  this  point 
of  difference  till  he  died,  which  befell  thirty  years 
after  his  election  to  the  captaincy. 


DUCAL   MANTUA  329 

Him  his  son  Guido  succeeded,  —  a  prince  already 
old  at  the  time  of  his  father's  death,  and  of  feeble 
spirit.  He  shared  his  dominion  with  his  son  Ugo- 
lino,  excluding  the  younger  brothers  from  the  do 
minion.  These,  indignant  at  the  partiality,  one 
night  slew  their  brother  Ugolino  at  a  supper  he  was 
giving ;  and  being  thereupon  admitted  to  a  share  in 
their  father's  government,  had  no  trouble  in  obtain 
ing  the  pardon  of  the  Pope  and  Emperor.  One  of 
the  murderers  died  before  the  father  ;  the  other, 
named  Ludovico,  was,  on  the  death  of  Guido,  in 
1370,  elected  to  the  captaincy,  and  ruled  long, 
wisely,  and  well.  He  loved  a  peaceful  life ;  and 
though  the  Emperor  confirmed  him  in  the  honors 
conferred  on  him  by  the  Mantuans,  and  made  him 
vicar  imperial,  Ludovico  declined  to  take  part  with 
Ghibellines  against  Guelphs,  remained  quietly  at 
home,  and  spent  himself  much  in  good  works,  as  if 
he  would  thus  expiate  his  bloody  crime.  He  gath 
ered  artists,  poets,  and  learned  men  about  him,  and 
did  much  to  foster  all  arts.  In  his  time,  Mantua 
had  rest  from  war,  and  grew  to  have  twenty-eight 
thousand  inhabitants  ;  but  it  was  not  in  the  nature 
of  a  city  of  the  Middle  Ages  to  be  long  without  a 
calamity  of  some  sort,  and  it  is  a  kind  of  relief  to 
know  that  Mantua,  under  this  peaceful  prince,  was 
well-nigh  depopulated  by  a  pestilence. 

In  1381  he  died,  and  with  his  son  Francesco  the 
blood-letting  began  again.  Indeed,  this  captain 
spent  nearly  his  whole  life  in  war  with  those  plea 
sant  people,  the  Visconti  of  Milan.  He  had  mar- 


330  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

ried  the  daughter  of  Barnabo  Visconti,  but  discov 
ering  her  to  be  unfaithful  to  him,  or  believing  hei 
so,  he  caused  her  to  be  put  to  death,  refusing  all 
her  family's  intercessions  for  mercy.  After  that,  a 
heavy  sadness  fell  upon  him,  and  he  wandered  aim 
lessly  about  in  many  Italian  cities,  and  at  last  mar 
ried  a  second  time,  taking  to  wife  Margherita  Mala- 
testa.  He  was  a  prince  of  high  and  generous  soul 
and  of  manly  greatness  rare  in  his  time.  There 
came  once  a  creature  of  the  Visconti  to  him,  with  a 
plot  for  secretly  taking  off  his  masters ;  but  the 
Gonzaga  (he  must  have  been  thought  an  eccentric 
man  by  his  neighbors)  dismissed  the  wretch  with 
horror.  I  am  sure  the  reader  will  be  glad  to  know 
that  he  finally  beat  the  Visconti  in  fair  fight,  and 
(the  pest  still  raging  in  Mantua)  lived  to  make  a 
pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Land.  When  he  returned, 
he  compiled  the  city's  statutes,  divided  the  town  into 
four  districts,  and  named  its  streets.  So  he  died. 

And  after  this  prince  had  made  his  end,  there 
came  another  Francesco,  or  Gianfrancesco,  who  was 
created  Marquis  of  Mantua  by  the  Emperor  Sigis- 
mund.  He  was  a  friend  of  war,  and  having  been 
the  ward  of  the  Venetian  Republic  he  became  the 
leader  of  her  armies  on  the  death  of  Carmagnola. 
The  Gonzaga  took  Verona  and  Padua  for  the  re 
public,  and  met  the  Milanese  in  many  battles. 
Venice  was  then  fat  with  the  spoils  of  the  Orient, 
and  it  is  probable  that  the  Marquis  of  Mantua 
acquired  there  that  taste  for  splendor  which  he 
introduced  into  his  hitherto  frugal  little  state.  We 


DUCAL   MANTUA  331 

read  of  his  being  in  Venice  in  1414,  when  the 
Jewelers  and  Goldsmiths'  Guild  gave  a  tournament 
in  the  Piazza  San  Marco,  offering  as  prizes  to  the 
victorious  lances  a  collar  enriched  with  pearls  and 
diamonds,  the  work  of  the  jewelers,  and  two  hel 
mets  excellently  wrought  by  the  goldsmiths.  On 
this  occasion  the  Gonzaga,  with  two  hundred  and 
sixty  Mantuan  gentlemen,  mounted  on  superb 
horses,  contested  the  prizes  with  the  Marquis  of 
Ferrara,  at  the  head  of  two  hundred  Ferrarese, 
equally  mounted,  and  attended  by  their  squires  and 
pages,  magnificently  dressed.  There  were  sixty 
thousand  spectators  of  the  encounter.  "  Both  the 
marquises,"  says  Mutinelli  in  his  "  Annali  Urbani," 
"  being  each  assisted  by  fourteen  well-armed  cava 
liers,  combated  valorously  at  the  barrier,  and  were 
both  judged  worthy  of  the  first  prize  :  a  Mantuan 
cavalier  took  the  second." 

The  Marquis  Gonzaga  was  the  first  of  his  line 
who  began  that  royal  luxury  of  palaces  with  which 
Mantua  was  adorned.  He  commenced  the  Ducal 
Palace ;  but  before  he  went  far  with  the  work  he 
fell  a  prey  to  the  science  then  much  affected  by 
Italian  princes,  but  still  awaiting  its  last  refinement 
from  the  gifted  Lucrezia  Borgia.  The  poor  mar 
quis  was  poisoned  by  his  wife's  paramour,  and  died 
in  the  year  1444.  Against  this  prince  is  recorded 
the  vandalism  of  causing  to  be  thrown  down  and 
broken  in  pieces  the  antique  statue  of  Virgil  which 
stood  in  one  of  the  public  places  of  Mantua,  and  of 
which  the  head  is  'still  shown  in  the  Museum  of  the 


332  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

city.  In  all  times,  the  Mantuans  had  honored,  in 
divers  ways,  their  great  poet,  and  at  certain  epochs 
had  coined  money  bearing  his  face.  With  the  com 
mon  people  he  had  a  kind  of  worship  (more  likely 
as  wizard  than  as  poet),  and  they  celebrated  an 
nually  some  now-forgotten  event  by  assembling 
with  songs  and  dances  about  the  statue  of  Virgil 
which  was  destroyed  by  the  uncle  of  the  marquis, 
Malatesta,  rather  than  by  the  marquis's  own  order. 
This  ill-conditioned  person  is  supposed  to  have  been 
"  vexed  because  our  Mantuan  people  thought  it 
their  highest  glory  to  be  fellow-citizens  of  the  prince 
of  poets." 

Francesco  having  consented,  by  his  acceptance 
of  the  marquisate,  to  become  a  prince  of  the  Ro 
man  Empire,  Mantua  was  thus  subjected  to  the 
Emperors,  but  liberty  had  long  been  extinguished  ; 
and  the  voluntary  election  of  the  Council,  which 
bestowed  the  captaincy  on  each  succeeding  genera 
tion  of  the  Gonzagas,  was  a  mere  matter  of  form, 
and  of  course. 

The  next  prince,  Lodovico  Gonzaga,  was  an  aus 
tere  man,  and  had  been  bred  in  a  hard  school,  if  I 
may  believe  some  of  the  old  chroniclers,  whom,  in 
deed,  I  sometimes  suspect  of  being  not  altogether 
faithful.  It  is  said  that  his  father  loved  his  younger 
brother  better  than  him,  and  that  Lodovico  ran 
away  in  his  boyhood,  and  took  refuge  with  his 
father's  hereditary  enemies,  the  Visconti.  To  make, 
dates  agree,  it  must  have  been  the  last  of  these,  for 
the  line  failed  during  Lodovico's  time,  and  he  had 


DUCAL   MANTUA  333 

wars  with  the  succeeding  Sforza.  In  the  day  of 
his  escapade,  Milan  was  at  war  with  Mantua  and 
with  Venice,  and  the  Marquis  Gonzaga  was  at  the 
head  of  the  united  armies,  as  we  have  already  seen. 
So  the  father  and  son  met  in  several  battles ;  though 
the  Visconti,  out  of  love  for  the  boy,  and  from  a 
sentiment  of  piety  somewhat  amazing  in  them,  con 
trived  that  he  should  never  actually  encounter  his 
parent  face  to  face.  Lodovico  came  home  after  the 
wars,  wearing  a  long  beard ;  and  his  mother  called 
her  son  "the  Turk,"  a  nickname  that  he  never  lost. 

II  Turco  was  a  lover  of  the  arts  and  of  letters, 
and  he  did  many  works  to  enrich  and  beautify  the 
city.  He  established  the  first  printing-office  in 
Mantua,  where  the  first  book  printed  was  the 
"  Decamerone  "  of  Boccaccio.  He  founded  a  col 
lege  of  advocates,  and  he  dug  canals  for  irrigation  ; 
and  the  prosperity  of  Mantuan  manufacturers  in 
his  time  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  when 
the  King  of  Denmark  paid  him  a -visit,  in  1474,  the 
merchants  decked  their  shops  with  five  thousand 
pieces  of  fine  Mantuan  cloth. 

The  marquis  made  his  brilliant  little  court  the 
resort  of  the  arts  and  letters  ;  and  hither  from  Flor 
ence  came  once  the  elegant  Politian,  who  composed 
his  tragedy  of  "  Orfeo  "  in  Mantua,  and  caused  it 
to  be  first  represented  before  Lodovico.  But  it 
must  be  confessed  that  this  was  a  soil  in  which  art 
flourished  better  than  literature,  and  that  even  born 
Mantuan  poets  went  off,  after  a  while,  and  flourished 
in  other  air.  The  painter  Mantegna,  whom  the 


334  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

marquis  invited  from  Padua,  passed  his  whole  life 
here,  painting  for  the  marquis  in  the  palaces  and 
churches.  The  prince  loved  him,  and  gave  him  a 
house,  and  bestowed  other  honors  upon  him;  and 
Mantegna  executed  for  Lodovico  his  famous  pictures 
representing  the  Triumph  of  Julius  Caesar.1  It  was 
divided  into  nine  compartments,  and,  as  a  frieze, 
went  round  the  upper  part  of  Lodovico's  newly 
erected  palace  of  San  Sebastian.  Mantegna  also 
painted  a  hall  in  the  Castello  di  Corte,  called  the 
Stanza  di  Mantegna,  and  there,  among  other  sub 
jects  of  fable  and  of  war,  made  the  portraits  of 
Lodovico  and  his  wife.  It  was  partly  the  wish  to 
see  such  works  of  Mantegna  as  still  remained  in 
Mantua  that  took  us  thither ;  and  it  was  chiefly  this 
wish  that  carried  us,  the  morning  after  our  arrival, 
to  the  Castello  di  Corte,  or  the  Ducal  Palace. 

If  the  reader  cares  to  fancy  a  wide  piazza.,  or  open 
square,  with  a  church  upon  the  left  hand,  immense, 
uninteresting  edifices  on  the  right,  and  an  ugly 
bishop's  palace  of  Renaissance  taste  behind  him,  he 
may  figure  before  him  as  vastly  and  magnificently 
as  he  pleases  the  superb  Gothic  front  of  the  Castello 
di  Corte.  This  facade  is  the  only  one  in  Italy  that 
reminds  you  of  the  Ducal  Palace  at  Venice  ;  and  it 
does  this  merely  by  right  of  its  short  pillars  and 
deep  Gothic  arches  in  the  ground  story,  and  the 
great  breadth  of  wall  that  rises  above  them,  un 
broken  by  the  second  line  of  columns  which  relieves 
and  lightens  this  wall  in  the  Venetian  palace.  It 

1  Now  at  Hampton  Court,  in  England. 


DUCAL   MANTUA  335 

stands  at  an  extremity  of  the  city,  upon  the  edge  of 
the  broad  fresh-water  lagoon,  and  is  of  such  extent 
as  to  include  within  its  walls  a  whole  court-city 
of  theatre,  church,  stables,  playground,  course  for 
riding,  and  several  streets.  There  is  a  far  olde'r 
edifice  adjoining  the  Castello  di  Corte,  which  Guido 
Bonacolsi  began,  and  which  witnessed  the  bloody 
end  of  his  line,  when  Louis  Gonzaga  surprised  and 
slew  his  last  successor.  But  the  palace  itself  is  all 
the  work  of  the  Gonzagas,  and  it  remains  the  monu 
ment  of  their  kingly  state  and  splendid  pride. 

But  it  is  known  that  the  works  of  Mantegna  suf 
fered  grievously  in  the  wars  of  the  last  century,  and 
his  memory  has  faded  so  dim  in  this  palace  where 
he  wrought,  that  the  guide  could  not  understand 
the  curiosity  of  the  foreigners  concerning  the  old 
painter ;  and  certainly  Giulio  Romano  has  stamped 
himself  more  ineffaceably  than  Mantegna  upon 
Mantua. 

In  the  Ducal  Palace  are  seen  vividly  contrasted 
the  fineness  and  strength,  the  delicacy  and  courage 
of  the  fancy,  which,  rather  than  the  higher  gift  of 
imagination,  characterize  Giulio's  work.  There  is 
such  an  airy  refinement  and  subtile  grace  in  the 
pretty  grotesques  with  which  he  decorates  a  cham 
ber  ;  there  is  such  daring  luxury  of  color  and  design 
in  the  pictures  for  which  his  grand  halls  are  merely 
the  frames.  No  doubt  I  could  make  fine  speeches 
about  these  paintings ;  but  who,  not  seeing  them, 
would  be  the  wiser,  after  the  best  description  and 
the  choicest  critical  disquisition  ?  In  fact,  our  travel- 


336  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

ers  themselves  found  it  pleasanter,  after  a  while,  to 
yield  to  the  guidance  of  the  custode,  and  to  enjoy 
the  stupider  marvels  of  the  place,  than  to  do  the  set 
and  difficult  admiration  of  the  works  of  art.  So, 
passing  the  apartments  in  good  preservation  (the 
Austrian  emperors  had  taken  good  care  of  some 
parts  of  the  palace  of  one  of  their  first  Italian  pos 
sessions),  they  did  justice  to  the  splendor  of  the 
satin  beds  and  the  other  upholstery  work ;  they 
admired  rich  carpentering  and  costly  toys ;  they 
dwelt  on  marvelous  tapestries  (among  which  the 
tapestry  copies  of  Raphael's  cartoons,  woven  at 
Mantua  in  the  fifteenth  century,  are  certainly 
worthy  of  wonder) ;  and  they  expressed  the  proper 
amazement  at  the  miracles  of  art  which  caused  fig 
ures  frescoed  in  the  ceilings  to  turn  with  them,  and 
follow  and  face  them  from  whatever  part  of  the 
room  they  chose  to  look.  Nay,  they  even  enjoyed 
the  Hall  of  the  Rivers,  on  the  sides  of  which  the 
usual  river-gods  were  painted,  in  the  company  of 
the  usual  pottery,  from  which  they  pour  their  founts, 
and  at  the  end  of  which  there  was  an  abominable 
little  grotto  of  what  people  call,  in  modern  land 
scape-gardening,  rock-work,  out  of  the  despair  with 
which  its  unmeaning  ugliness  fills  them.  There 
was,  besides  all  this,  a  hanging  garden  in  this  small 
Babylon  which  occupied  a  spacious  oblong,  and  had 
a  fountain  and  statues,  trees  and  flowers,  and  would 
certainly  have  been  taken  for  the  level  of  the  earth, 
had  not  the  custode  proudly  pointed  out  that  it  was 
on  a  level  with  the  second  floor,  where  they  stood. 


DUCAL   MANTUA  337 

After  that  they  wandered  through  a  series  of  un 
used,  dismantled  apartments  and  halls,  melancholy 
with  faded  fresco,  dropping  stucco,  and  mutilated 
statues  of  plaster,  and  came  at  last  upon  a  balcony 
overlooking  the  Cavallerizza,  which  one  of  the  early 
dukes  built  after  a  design  by  the  inevitable  Giulio 
Romano.  It  is  a  large  square,  and  was  meant  for 
the  diversion  of  riding  on  horseback.  Balconies  go 
all  round  it  between  those  thick  columns,  finely 
twisted,  as  we  see  them  in  that  cartoon  of  Raphael, 
"  The  Healing  of  the  Lame  Man  at  the  Beautiful 
Gate  of  the  Temple  ;  "  and  here  once  stood  the  jolly 
dukes  and  the  ladies  of  their  light-hearted  court,  and 
there  below  rode  the  gay,  insolent,  intriguing  cour 
tiers,  and  outside  groaned  the  city  under  the  heavy 
extortions  of  the  tax-gatherers.  It  is  all  in  weather 
worn  stucco,  and  the  handsome  square  is  planted 
with  trees.  The  turf  was  now  cut  and  carved  by  the 
heavy  wheels  of  the  Austrian  baggage-wagons  con 
stantly  passing  through  the  court  to  carry  munitions 
to  the  fortress  outside,  whose  black  guns  grimly 
overlook  the  dead  lagoon.  A  sense  of  desolation 
had  crept  over  the  sight-seers,  with  that  strange 
sickness  of  heart  which  one  feels  in  the  presence  of 
ruin  not  to  be  lamented,  and  which  deepened  into 
actual  pain  as  the  custode  clapped  his  hands  and 
the  echo  buffeted  itself  against  the  forlorn  stucco, 
and  up  from  the  trees  rose  a  score  of«  sullen,  slum 
berous  owls,  and  flapped  heavily  across  the  lonesome 
air  with  melancholy  cries.  It  only  needed,  to  crush 
these  poor  strangers,  that  final  touch  which  the 


338  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

custode  gave,  as  they  passed  from  the  palace 
through  the  hall  in  which  are  painted  the  Gonzagas, 
and  in  which  he  pointed  out  the  last  Duke  of  Man 
tua,  saying  he  was  deposed  by  the  Emperor  for 
felony,  and  somehow  conveying  the  idea  of  horse- 
stealing  and  counterfeiting  on  the  part  of  his  Grace. 
A  very  different  man  from  this  rogue  was  our  old 
friend  Lodovico,  who  also,  however,  had  his  troubles. 
He  was  an  enemy  of  the  Ghibellines,  and  fought 
them  a  great  deal.  Of  course  he  had  the  habitual 
wars  with  Milan,  and  he  was  obliged  to  do  battle 
with  his  own  brother  Carlo  to  some  extent.  This 
Gonzaga  had  been  taken  prisoner  by  Sforza  ;  and 
Lodovico,  having  paid  for  him  a  ransom  of  sixty 
thousand  florins  of  gold  (which  Carlo  was  scarcely 
worth),  seized  the  fraternal  lands,  and  held  them 
in  pledge  of  repayment.  Carlo  could  not  pay,  and 
tried  to  get  back  his  possessions  by  war.  Vexed 
with  these  and  other  contentions,  Lodovico  was  also 
unhappy  in  his  son,  whose  romance  I  may  best  tell 
in  the  words  of  the  history  1  from  which  I  take  it. 

"  Lodovico  Gonzaga,  having  agreed  with  the  Duke  of 
Bavaria  to  take  his  daughter  Margherita  as  wife  for  his 
(Lodovico's)  first-born,  Federico,  and  the  young  man 
having  refused  her,  Lodovico  was  so  much  enraged  that 
he  sought  to  imprison  him ;  but  the  Marchioness  Bar 
bara,  mother  of  Federico,  caused  him  to  fly  from  the  city 
till  his  father's  anger  should  be  abated.  Federico  de 
parted  with  six  attendants  ;  *  but  this  flight  caused  still 

1  Volta,  Storia  di  Mantova. 

2  The  Fioretto  delle  Cronache  says  "  persons  of  gentle  condi 
tion." 


DUCAL   MANTUA  339 

greater  displeasure  to  his  father,  who  now  declared  him 
banished,  and  threatened  with  heavy  penalties  any  one 
who  should  give  him  help  or  favor.  Federico,  therefore, 
wandered  about  with  these  six  attendants  in  divers 
places,  and  finally  arrived  in  Naples  ;  but  having  al 
ready  spent  all  his  substance,  and  not  daring  to  make 
himself  known  for  fear  of  his  father,  he  fell  into  great 
want,  and  so  into  severe  sickness.  His  companions 
having  nothing  wherewith  to  live,  and  not  knowing  any 
trade  by  which  to  gain  their  bread,  did  menial  services 
fit  for  day-laborers,  and  sustained  their  lord  with  their 
earnings,  he  remaining  hidden  in  a  poor  woman's  house 
where  they  all  dwelt. 

"  The  Marchioness  had  sent  many  messengers  in 
divers  provinces  with  money  to  find  her  son,  but  they 
never  heard  any  news  of  him  ;  so  that  they  thought  him 
dead,  not  hearing  anything,  either,  of  his  attendants. 
Now  it  happened  that  one  of  those  who  sought  Feder 
ico  came  to  Naples,  and  presented  himself  to  the  king 
with  a  letter  from  the  said  lady,  praying  that  he  should 
make  search  in  his  territory  for  a  company  of  seven 
men,  giving  the  name  and  description  of  each.  The 
king  caused  this  search  to  be  made  by  the  heads  of 
the  district ;  and  one  of  these  heads  told  how  in  his 
district  there  were  six  Lombard  men  (not  knowing  of 
Federico,  who  lay  ill),  but  that  they  were  laborers  and 
of  base  condition.  The  king  determined  to  see  them ; 
and  they  being  come  before  him,  he  demanded  who 
they  were,  and  how  many  ;  as  they  were  not  willing  to 
discover  their  lord,  on  being  asked  their  names  they 
gave  others,  so  that  the  king,  not  being  able  to  learn 
anything,  would  have  dismissed  them.  But  the  messen 
ger  sent  by  the  Marchioness  knew  them,  and  said  to 


340  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

the  king,  '  Sire,  these  are  the  attendants  of  him  whom  I 
seek  ;  but  they  have  changed  their  names.'  The  king 
caused  them  to  be  separated  one  from  another,  and 
then  asked  them  of  their  lord  ;  and  they,  finding  them 
selves  separated,  minutely  narrated  everything  ;  and  the 
king  immediately  sent  for  Federico,  whom  his  officers 
found  miserably  ill  on  a  heap  of  straw.  He  was  brought 
to  the  palace,  where  the  king  ordered  him  to  be  cared 
for,  sending  the  messenger  back  to  his  mother  to  advise 
her  how  the  men  had  been  found  and  in  what  great  mis 
ery.  The  Marchioness  went  to  her  husband,  and,  hav 
ing  cast  herself  at  his  feet,  besought  him  of  a  grace. 
The  Marquis  answered  that  he  would  grant  everything, 
so  it  did  not  treat  of  Federico.  Then  the  lady  opened 
him  the  letter  of  the  king  of  Naples,  which  had  such 
effect  that  it  softened  the  soul  of  the  Marquis,  showing 
him  in  how  great  misery  his  son  had  been  ;  and  so,  giv 
ing  the  letter  to  the  Marchioness,  he  said,  '  Do  that 
which  pleases  you.'  The  Marchioness  straightway  sent 
the  prince  money,  and  clothes  to  clothe  him,  in  order 
that  he  should  return  to  Mantua  ;  and  having  come,  the 
son  cast  himself  at  his  father's  feet,  imploring  pardon 
for  himself  and  for  his  attendants  ;  and  he  pardoned 
them,  and  gave  those  attendants  enough  to  live  honor 
ably  and  like  noblemen,  and  they  were  called  The 
Faithful  of  the  House  of  Gonzaga,  and  from  them  come 
the  Feddi  of  Mantua. 

"  The  Marquis  then,  not  to  break  faith,  caused  Fed 
erico  to  take  Margherita,  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Ba 
varia,  for  his  wife,  and  celebrated  the  nuptials  splen 
didly  ;  so  that  there  remained  the  greatest  love  between 
father  and  son." 


DUCAL   MANTUA  341 

The  son  succeeded  to  the  father's  dominion  in 
1478  ;  and  it  is  recorded  of  him  in  the  "Flower  of 
the  Chronicles,"  that  he  was  a  hater  of  idleness, 
and  a  just  man,  greatly  beloved  by  his  people. 
Federico  was  marquis  only  six  years  and  died  in 
1484,  leaving  his  marquisate  to  his  son  Francesco, 
the  most  ambitious,  warlike,  restless,  splendid  prince 
of  his  magnificent  race.  This  Gonzaga  wore  a 
beard,  and  brought  the  custom  into  fashion  in  Italy 
again.  He  founded  the  famous  breed  of  Mantuan 
horses  and  gave  them  about  free-handedly  to  other 
sovereigns  of  his  acquaintance.  To  the  English 
king  he  presented  a  steed  which,  if  we  may  trust 
history,  could  have  been  sold  for  almost  its  weight 
in  gold.  He  was  so  fond  of  hunting  that  he  kept 
two  hundred  dogs  of  the  chase,  and  one  hundred 
and  fifty  birds  of  prey. 

Of  course  this  Gonzaga  was  a  soldier,  and  indeed 
he  loved  war  better  even  than  hunting,  and  de 
lighted  so  much  in  personal  feats  of  arms  that,  con 
cealing  his  name  and  quality,  in  order  that  the  com 
bat  should  be  in  all  things  equal,  he  was  wont  to 
challenge  renowned  champions  wherever  he  heard 
of  them,  and  to  meet  them  in  the  lists.  Great  part 
of  his  life  was  spent  in  the  field  ;  and  he  fought  in 
turn  on  nearly  all  sides  of  the  political  questions 
then  agitating  Italy.  In  1495  he  was  at  the  head 
of  the  Venetian  and  other  Italian  troops  when  they 
beat  the  French  under  Charles  VIII.  at  Taro,  and 
made  so  little  use  of  their  victory  as  to  let  their  van 
quished  invaders  escape  from  them  after  all.  Never- 


342  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

theless  if  the  Gonzaga  did  not  here  show  himself  a 
great  general,  he  did  great  feats  of  personal  valor, 
penetrating  to  the  midst  of  the  French  forces, 
wounding  the  king,  and  with  his  own  hand  taking 
prisoner  the  great  Bastard  of  Bourbon.  Venice 
paid  him  ten  thousand  ducats  for  gaining  the  vic 
tory,  such  as  it  was,  and  when  peace  was  made  he 
went  to  visit  the  French  king  at  Vercelli ;  and  there 
Charles  gave  his  guest  a  present  of  two  magnificent 
horses,  which  the  Gonzaga  returned  yet  more  splen 
didly  in  kind.  About  five  years  later  he  was  again 
at  war  with  the  French,  and  helped  the  Aragonese 
drive  them  out  of  Naples.  In  1506  Pope  Julius  II. 
made  him  leader  of  the  armies  of  the  Church  (for 
he  had  now  quitted  the  Venetian  service),  and  he 
reduced  the  city  of  Bologna  to  obedience  to  the 
Holy  See.  In  1509  he  joined  the  League  of  Cam- 
bray  against  Venice,  and,  being  made  Imperial 
Captain-General,  was  taken  prisoner  by  the  Vene 
tians.  They  liberated  him,  however,  the  following 
year;  and  in  1513  we  find  him  at  the  head  of  the 
league  against  the  French. 

A  curious  anecdote  of  this  Gonzaga's  hospitality 
is  also  illustrative  of  the  anomalous  life  of  those 
times  when  good  faith  had  as  little  to  do  with  the 
intercourse  of  nations  as  at  present ;  but  good  for 
tune,  when  she  appeared  in  the  world,  liked  to  put 
on  a  romantic  and  melodramatic  guise.  An  ambas 
sador  from  the  Grand  Turk  on  his  way  to  Rome  was 
taken  by  an  enemy  of  the  Pope,  despoiled  of  all  his 
money,  and  left  planted,  as  the  Italians  expressively 


DUCAL   MANTUA  343 

say,  at  Ancona.  This  ambassador  had  come  to 
concert  with  Alexander  VI.  the  death  of  Bajazet's 
brother,  prisoner  in  the  Pope's  hands,  and  he  bore 
the  Pope  a  present  of  50,000  gold  ducats.  It  was 
Gian  Delia  Rovere  who  seized  and  spoiled  him,  and 
sent  the  papers  (letters  of  the  Pope  and  Sultan)  to 
Charles  VIII.  of  France,  to  whom  Alexander  had 
been  obliged  to  give  the  Grand  Turk's  brother. 
The  magnificent  Gonzaga  hears  of  the  Turk's  em 
barrassing  mischance,  sends  and  fetches  him  to 
Mantua,  clothes  him,  puts  abundant  money  in  his 
purse,  and  dispatches  him  on  his  way.  The  Sultan, 
in  reward  of  this  courtesy  to  his  servant,  gave  a 
number  of  fine  horses  to  the  marquis,  who,  possibly 
being  tired  of  presenting  his  own  horses,  returned 
the  Porte  a  shipload  of  excellent  Mantuan  cheeses. 
The  interchange  of  compliments  seems  to  have  led 
to  a  kind  of  romantic  friendship  between  the  Gon 
zaga  and  the  Grand  Turk,  who  did  occasionally  in 
terest  himself  in  the  affairs  of  the  Christian  dogs  ; 
and  who,  when  Francesco  lay  prisoner  at  Venice, 
actually  wrote  to  the  Serenest  Senate,  and  asked 
his  release  as  a  personal  grace  to  him,  the  Grand 
Turk.  And  Francesco  was,  thereupon,  let  go  ;  the 
canny  republic  being  willing  to  do  the  Sultan  any 
sort  of  cheap  favor. 

This  Gonzaga,  being  so  much  engaged  in  war, 
seems  to  have  had  little  time  for  the  adornment  of 
his  capital.  The  Church  of  Our  Lady  of  Victory 
is  the  only  edifice  which  he  added  to  it ;  and  this 
was  merely  in  glorification  of  his  own  triumph  over 


344  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

the  French  at  Taro.  Mantegna  painted  an  altar- 
piece  for  it,  representing  the  marquis  and  his  wife 
on  their  knees  before  the  Virgin,  in  act  of  rendering 
her  thanks  for  the  victory.  The  French  nation 
avenged  itself  for  whatever  wrong  was  done  its 
pride  in  this  picture  by  stealing  it  away  from  Man 
tua  in  Napoleon's  time  ;  and  it  now  hangs  in  the 
gallery  of  the  Louvre. 

Francesco  died  in  1519;  and  after  him  his  son, 
Federico  II.,  the  first  Duke  of  Mantua,  reigned 
some  twenty-one  years,  and  died  in  1540.  The 
marquisate  in  his  time  was  made  a  duchy  by  the 
Emperor  Charles  V.,  to  whom  the  Gonzaga  had 
given  efficient  aid  in  his  wars  against  the  French. 
This  was  in  the  year  1530;  and  three  years  later, 
when  the  Duke  of  Monferrato  died,  and  the  inherit 
ance  of  his  opulent  little  state  was  disputed  by  the 
Duke  of  Savoy,  by  the  Marquis  of  Saluzzo,  and 
by  the  Gonzaga  who  had  married  the  late  duke's 
daughter,  Charles's  influence  secured  it  to  the  Man- 
tuan.  The  dominions  of  the  Gonzagas  had  now 
reached  their  utmost  extent,  and  these  dominions 
were  not  curtailed  till  the  deposition  of  Fernando 
Carlo  in  1708,  when  Monferrato  was  adjudged  to 
the  Duke  of  Savoy,  and  afterwards  confirmed  to 
him  by  treaty.  It  was  separated  from  the  capital 
of  the  Gonzagas  by  a  wide  extent  of  alien  territory, 
but  they  held  it  with  a  strong  hand,  embellished 
the  city,  and  founded  there  the  strongest  citadel  in 
Italy. 

Federico,  after  his  wars  for  the  Emperor,  appears 


DUCAL   MANTUA  345 

to  have  reposed  in  peace  for  the  rest  of  his  days, 
and  to  have  devoted  himself  to  the  adornment  of 
Mantua  and  the  aggrandizing  of  his  family.  His 
court  was  the  home  of  many  artists ;  and  Titian 
painted  for  him  the  Twelve  Caesars  which  the  Ger 
mans  stole  when  they  sacked  the  city  in  1630.  But 
his  great  agent  and  best  beloved  genius  was  Giulio 
Pippi,  called  Romano,  who  was  conducted  to  Man 
tua  by  pleasant  Count  Baldassare  Castiglione. 

Pleasant  Count  Baldassare  Castiglione !  whose 
incomparable  book  of  the  "  Cortigiano  "  succeeded 
in  teaching  his  countrymen  every  gentlemanly  grace 
but  virtue.  He  was  born  at  Casatico  in  the  Man- 
tovano,  in  the  year  1476,  and  went  in  his  boyhood 
to  be  schooled  at  Milan,  where  he  learnt  the  pro 
fession  of  arms.  From  Milan  he  went  to  Rome, 
where  he  exercised  his  profession  of  arms  till  the 
year  1 504,  when  he  was  called  to  gentler  uses  at 
the  court  of  the  elegant  Dukes  of  Urbino.  He  lived 
there  as  courtier  and  court-poet,  and  he  returned  to 
Rome  as  the  ambassador  from  Urbino.  Meantime 
his  liege,  Francesco  Gonzaga,  was  but  poorly 
pleased  that  so  brilliant  a  Mantuan  should  spend 
his  life  in  the  service  and  ornament  of  other  princes, 
and  Castiglione  came  back  to  his  native  country 
about  the  year  1516.  He  married  in  Mantua,  and 
there  finished  his  famous  book  of  "  The  Courtier," 
and  succeeded  in  winning  back  the  favor  of  his 
prince.  Federico,  the  duke,  made  him  ambassador 
to  Rome  in  1528;  and  Baldassare  did  his  master 
two  signal  services  there,  —  he  procured  him  to  be 


346  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

named  head  of  all  the  Papal  forces,  and  he  found 
him  Giulio  Romano.  So  the  duke  suffered  him  to 
go  as  the  Pope's  nuncio  to  Spain,  and  Baldassare 
finished  his  courtly  days  at  Toledo  in  1529. 

The  poet  made  a  detour  to  Mantua  on  his  way  to 
Spain,  taking  with  him  the  painter,  whom  the  duke 
received  with  many  caresses,  as  Vasari  says,  pre 
sented  him  a  house  honorably  furnished,  ordered 
provision  for  him  and  his  pupils,  gave  them  certain 
brave  suits  of  velvet  and  satin,  and,  seeing  that 
Giulio  had  no  horse,  called  for  his  own  favorite  and 
bestowed  it  on  him.  They  knew  how  to  receive 
painters,  those  fine  princes,  who  had  merely  to  put 
their  hands  into  their  people's  pocket  and  take  out 
what  florins  they  liked.  So  the  duke  presently 
set  the  artist  to  work,  riding  out  with  him  through 
the  gate  of  San  Bastiano  to  some  stables  about  a 
bow-shot  from  the  walls,  in  the  midst  of  a  flat  mea 
dow,  where  he  told  Giulio  that  he  would  be  glad 
(if  it  could  be  done  without  destroying  the  old 
walls)  to  have  such  buildings  added  to  the  stables 
as  would  serve  him  for  a  kind  of  lodge,  to  come  out 
and  merrily  sup  in  when  he  liked.  Whereupon 
Giulio  began  to  think  out  the  famous  Palazzo  del  T. 

Castiglione  had  found  the  painter  at  Rome,  after 
the  death  of  his  master  Raphael,  when  his  genius, 
for  good  or  for  ill,  began  for  the  first  time  to  find 
original  expression.  At  Mantua  he  spent  all  the 
rest  of  his  busy  life,  and  as  in  Venice  all  the  Ma 
donnas  in  the  street-corner  shrines  have  some  touch 
of  color  to  confess  the  painter's  subjection  to  Titian 


DUCAL   MANTUA  347 

or  Tintoretto  ;  as  in  Vicenza  the  edifices  are  all 
stilted  upon  pedestals  in  honor  and  homage  to  Pal- 
ladio  ;  as  in  Parma  Correggio  has  never  died,  but 
lives  to  this  day  in  the  mouths  and  chiaroscuro 
effects  of  all  the  figures  in  all  the  pictures  painted 
there ;  —  so  in  Mantua  Giulio  Romano  is  to  be 
found  in  the  lines  of  every  painting  and  every 
palace. 

Giulio  Romano  did  a  little  of  everything  for  the 
Dukes  of  Mantua,  —  from  painting  the  most  deli 
cate  or  indelicate  little  fresco  for  a  bed-chamber, 
to  restraining  the  Po  and  the  Mincio  with  immense 
dikes,  restoring  ancient  edifices  and  building  new 
ones,  draining  swamps  and  demolishing  and  re 
constructing  whole  streets,  painting  palaces  and 
churches,  and  designing  the  city  slaughter-house. 
He  grew  old  and  very  rich  in  the  service  of  the 
Gonzagas  ;  but  though  Mrs.  Jameson  says  he  com 
manded  respect  by  a  sense  of  his  own  dignity  as  an 
artist,  the  Bishop  of  Casale,  who  wrote  the  "  Annali 
di  Mantova,"  says  that  the  want  of  nobility  and 
purity  in  his  style,  and  his  "  gallant'  inventions, 
were  conformable  to  his  own  sensual  life,  and  that 
he  did  not  disdain  to  prostitute  himself  to  the  infa 
mies  of  Aretino." 

His  great  architectural  work  in  Mantua  is  the 
Palazzo  del  T,  or  Te,  as  it  is  now  written.  It  was 
first  called  Palazzo  del  T,  from  the  convergence 
of  roads  there  in  the  form  of  that  letter  ;  and  the 
modern  Mantuans  call  it  Del  Te,  from  the  supersti 
tion,  transmitted  to  us  by  the  custode  of  the  Ducal 


348  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

Palace,  that  the  Gonzagas  merely  used  it  on  plea 
sant  afternoons  to  take  tea  in  !  I  say  nothing  to 
control  the  reader's  choice  between  T  and  Te,  and 
merely  adhere  to  the  elder  style  out  of  reverence 
for  the  past.  It  is  certain  that  the  air  of  the  plain 
on  which  the  palace  stands  is  most  unwholesome, 
and  it  may  have  been  true  that  the  dukes  never 
passed  the  night  there.  Federico  did  not  intend  to 
build  more  than  a  lodge  in  this  place  ;  but  fasci 
nated  with  the  design  offered  him  by  Giulio,  he 
caused  the  artist  to  go  on,  and  contrive  him  a  palace 
instead.  It  stands,  as  Vasari  says,  about  a  good 
bow-shot  from  one  of  the  city's  gates  ;  and  going 
out  to  see  the  palace  on  our  second  day  in  Mantua, 
we  crossed  a  drawbridge  guarded  by  Austrian  sol 
diers.  Below  languished  a  bed  of  sullen  ooze, 
tangled  and  thickly  grown  with  long,  villainous 
grasses,  and  sending  up  a  damp  and  deathly  stench, 
which  made  all  the  faces  we  saw  look  feverish  and 
sallow.  Already  at  that  early  season  the  air  was 
foul  and  heavy,  and  the  sun,  faintly  making  himself 
seen  through  the  dun  sky  of  the  dull  spring  day, 
seemed  sick  to  look  upon  the  place,  where  indeed 
the  only  happy  and  lively  things  were  the  clouds  of 
gnats  that  danced  before  us,  and  welcomed  us  to 
the  Palazzo  del  T.  Damp  ditches  surround  the 
palace,  in  which  these  gnats  seemed  to  have  pecul 
iar  pleasure  ;  and  they  took  possession  of  the  por 
tico  of  the  stately  entrance  of  the  edifice  as  we 
went  in,  and  held  it  faithfully  till  we  returned. 
In  one  of  the  first  large  rooms  are  the  life-size 


DUCAL   MANTUA  349 

portraits  of  the  six  finest  horses  of  the  Gonzaga 
stud,  painted  by  the  pupils  of  Giulio  Romano,  after 
the  master's  designs.  The  paintings  attest  the 
beauty  of  the  Mantuan  horses,  and  the  pride  and 
fondness  of  their  ducal  owners ;  and  trustworthy 
critics  have  praised  their  eminent  truth.  But  we 
presently  left  them  for  the  other  chambers,  in 
which  the  invention  of  Giulio  had  been  used  to 
please  himself  rather  than  his  master.  I  scarcely 
mean  to  name  the  wonders  of  the  palace,  having, 
indeed,  general  associations  with  them,  rather  than 
particular  recollections  of  them. 

One  of  the  most  famous  rooms  is  the  Chamber 
of  Psyche  (the  apartments  are  not  of  great  size), 
of  which  the  ceiling  is  by  Giulio  and  the  walls  are 
by  his  pupils.  The  whole  illustrates,  with  every 
variety  of  fantastic  invention,  the  story  of  Psyche, 
as  told  by  Apuleius,  and  deserves  to  be  curiously 
studied  as  a  part  of  the  fair  outside  of  a  superb  and 
corrupt  age,  the  inside  of  which  was  full  of  rotten 
ness.  The  civilization  of  Italy,  as  a  growth  from 
the  earliest  Pagan  times,  and  only  modified  by 
Christianity  and  the  admixture  of  Northern  blood 
and  thought,  is  yet  to  be  carefully  analyzed ;  and 
until  this  analysis  is  made,  discussion  of  certain 
features  must  necessarily  be  incomplete  and  unsat 
isfactory.  No  one,  however,  can  stand  in  this 
Chamber  of  Psyche,  and  not  feel  how  great  reality 
the  old  mythology  must  still  have  had,  not  only 
for  the  artists  who  painted  the  room,  but  for  the 
people  who  inhabited  it  and  enjoyed  it.  I  do  not 


350  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

say  that  they  believed  it  as  they  believed  in  the 
vital  articles  of  Christian  faith,  but  that  they  ac 
cepted  it  with  the  same  spirit  as  they  accepted  the 
martyrology  of  the  Church  ;  and  that  to  the  fine 
gentlemen  and  ladies  of  the  court,  those  jolly  satyrs 
and  careless  nymphs,  those  Cupids  and  Psyches, 
and  Dianas  and  Venuses,  were  of  the  same  verity 
as  the  Fathers  of  the  Desert,  the  Devil,  and  the 
great  body  of  the  saints.  If  they  did  not  pray  to 
them,  they  swore  by  them,  and  their  names  were 
much  oftener  on  their  lips  ;  and  the  art  of  the  time 
was  so  thoroughly  Pagan,  that  it  forgot  all  Christian 
holiness,  and  clung  only  to  heathen  beauty.  When 
it  had  not  actually  a  mythologic  subject  to  deal  with, 
it  paganized  Christian  themes.  St.  Sebastian  was 
made  to  look  like  Apollo,  and  Mary  Magdalene  was 
merely  a  tearful,  triste  Venus.  There  is  scarcely  a 
ray  of  feeling  in  Italian  art  since  Raphael's  time 
which  suggests  Christianity  in  the  artist,  or  teaches 
it  to  the  beholder.  In  confessedly  Pagan  subjects 
it  was  happiest,  as  in  the  life  of  Psyche,  in  this 
room  ;  and  here  it  inculcated  a  gay  and  spirited 
license,  and  an  elegant  absence  of  modesty.  It 
would  be  instructive  to  know  in  what  spirit  the 
common  Mantuans  of  his  day  looked  upon  the  in 
ventions  of  the  painter,  and  how  far  the  courtly 
circle  which  frequented  this  room  went  in  discus 
sion  of  the  unspeakable  indecency  of  some  of  the 
scenes.1 

1  The  ruin  in  the  famous  room  frescoed  with  the  Fall  of  the 
Giants  commences  on  the  very  door-jambs,  which  are  painted  in 


DUCAL   MANTUA  351 

Returning  to  the  city,  we  visited  the  house  of 
Giulio  Romano,  which  stands  in  one  of  the  fine, 
lonesome  streets,  and  at  the  outside  of  which  we 
looked.  The  artist  designed  it  himself;  and  it  is 
very  pretty,  with  delicacy  of  feeling  in  the  fine  stucco 
ornamentation,  but  is  not  otherwise  interesting. 

We  passed  it,  continuing  our  way  toward  the 
Arsenal,  near  which  we  had  seen  the  women  at 
work  washing  the  linen  coats  of  the  garrison  in  the 
twilight  of  the  evening  before  ;  and  we  now  saw 
them  again  from  the  bridge,  on  which  we  paused 
to  look  at  a  picturesque  bit  of  modern  life  in  Man 
tua.  They  washed  the  linen  in  a  clear,  swift-run 
ning  stream,  diverted  from  the  dam  of  the  Mincio 
to  furnish  mill-power  within  the  city  wall ;  and  we 
could  look  down  the  watercourse  past  old  arcades 
of  masonry  half  submerged  in  it,  past  pleasant 
angles  of  houses  and  a  lazy  mill-wheel  turning 
slowly,  slowly,  till  our  view  ended  in  the  gallery  of 
a  time-worn  palace,  through  the  columns  of  which 
was  seen  the  blue  sky.  Under  the  bridge  the 
stream  ran  very  strong  and  lucid,  over  long,  green, 
undulating  water-grasses,  which  it  loved  to  dimple 
over  and  play  with.  On  the  right  were  the  laun 
dresses  under  the  eaves  of  a  wooden  shed,  each 
kneeling,  as  their  custom  is,  in  a  three-sided  box, 

broken  and  tumbling  brick-work  ;  and  throughout  there  is  a  pro- 
digiousness  which  does  not  surprise,  and  a  bigness  which  does 
not  impress.  In  Kugler's  Hand-book  of  Italian  Painting  are  two 
illustrations,  representing  parts  of  the  fresco,  which  give  a  fair 
idea  of  the  whole. 


352  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

and  leaning  forward  over  the  washboard  that  sloped 
down  into  the  water.  As  they  washed  they  held 
the  linen  in  one  hand,  and  rubbed  it  with  the  other; 
then  heaped  it  into  a  mass  upon  the  board  and  beat 
it  with  great  two-handed  blows  of  a  stick.  They 
sang,  meanwhile,  one  of  those  plaintive  airs  of  which 
the  Italian  peasants  are  fond,  and  which  rose  in 
indescribable  pathos,  pulsing  with  their  blows,  and 
rhythmic  with  the  graceful  movement  of  their  fig 
ures.  Many  of  the  women  were  young,  — though 
they  were  of  all  ages,  —  and  the  prettiest  among 
them  was  third  from  where  we  stood  upon  the 
bridge.  She  caught  sight  of  the  sketch-book  which 
one  of  the  travelers  carried,  and  pointed  it  out  to 
the  rest,  who  could  hardly  settle  to  their  work  to 
be  sketched.  Presently  an  idle  baker,  whose  shop 
adjoined  the  bridge,  came  out  and  leaned  upon  the 
parapet,  and  bantered  the  girls.  "  They  are  draw 
ing  the  prettiest,"  he  said,  at  which  they  all  bridled 
a  little ;  and  she  who  knew  herself  to  be  prettiest 
hung  her  head  and  rubbed  furiously  at  the  linen. 
Long  before  the  artist  had  finished  the  sketch,  the 
lazy,  good-humored  crowd  which  the  public  prac 
tice  of  the  fine  arts  always  attracts  in  Italy  had  sur 
rounded  the  strangers,  and  were  applauding,  com 
menting,  comparing,  and  absorbing  every  stroke  as 
it  was  made.  When  the  book  was  closed  and  they 
walked  away,  a  number  of  boys  straggled  after 
them  some  spaces,  inspired  by  a  curious  longing  and 
regret,  like  that  which  leads  boys  to  the  eager  in 
spection  of  fireworks  when  they  have  gone  out.  We 


DUCAL   MANTUA  353 

lost  them  at  the  first  turning  of  the  street,  whither 
the  melancholy  chorus  of  the  women's  song  had  also 
followed  us,  and  where  it  died  pathetically  away. 

In  the  evening  we  walked  to  the  Piazza.  Virgili- 
ana,  the  beautiful  space  laid  out  and  planted  with 
trees  by  the  French,  at  the  beginning  of  this  cen 
tury,  in  honor  of  the  great  Mantuan  poet.  One  of 
its  bounds  is  the  shore  of  the  lake  which  surrounds 
the  city,  and  from  which  now  rose  ghostly  vapors  on 
the  still  twilight  air.  Down  the  slow,  dull  current 
moved  one  of  the  picturesque  black  boats  of  the  Po ; 
and  beyond,  the  level  landscape  had  a  pleasant  des 
olation  that  recalled  the  scenery  of  the  Middle  Mis 
sissippi.  It  might  have  been  here  in  this  very  water 
that  the  first-born  of  our  first  Duke  of  Mantua  fell 
from  his  boat  while  hunting  water-fowl  in  1550,  and 
took  a  fever  of  which  he  died  only  a  short  time  after 
his  accession  to  the  sovereignty  of  the  duchy.  At 
any  rate,  the  fact  of  the  accident  brings  me  back 
from  lounging  up  and  down  Mantua  to  my  duty  of 
chronicler.  Francesco's  father  had  left  him  in 
childhood  to  the  care  of  his  uncle,  the  Cardinal 
Hercules,  who  ruled  Mantua  with  a  firm  and  able 
hand,  increasing  the  income  of  the  state,  spending 
less  upon  the  ducal  stud,  and  cutting  down  the 
number  of  mouths  at  the  ducal  table  from  eight 
hundred  to  three  hundred  and  fifty-one.  His  justice 
tended  to  severity  rather  than  mercy ;  but  reformers 
of  our  own  time  will  argue  well  of  his  heart,  that  he 
founded  in  that  time  a  place  of  refuge  and  retire 
ment  for  abandoned  women.  Good  Catholics  will 


354  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

also  be  pleased  to  know  that  he  was  very  efficient 
in  suppressing  the  black  heresy  of  Calvin,  which 
had  crept  into  Mantua  in  his  day,  —  probably  from 
Ferrara,  where  the  black  heretic  himself  was  then, 
or  about  then,  in  hiding  under  the  protection  of  the 
ill-advised  Marchioness  Renee.  The  good  cardinal 
received  the  Pope's  applause  for  his  energy  in  this 
matter,  and  no  doubt  his  hand  fell  heavily  on  the 
Calvinists.  Of  the  duke  who  died  so  young,  the 
Venetian  ambassador  thought  it  worth  while  to 
write  what  I  think  it  worth  while  to  quote,  as  illus 
trating  the  desire  of  the  Senate  to  have  careful 
knowledge  of  its  neighbors  :  "  He  is  a  boy  of  melan 
choly  complexion.  His  eyes  are  full  of  spirit,  but 
he  does  not  delight  in  childish  things,  and  seems 
secretly  proud  of  being  lord.  He  has  an  excellent 
memory,  and  shows  much  inclination  for  letters." 

His  brother  Guglielmo,  who  succeeded  him  in 
1550,  seems  to  have  had  the  same  affection  for 
learning  ;  but  he  was  willful,  harsh,  and  cruelly  am 
bitious,  and  cared,  an  old  writer  says,  for  nothing 
so  much  as  perpetuating  the  race  of  the  Gonzagas 
in  Mantua.  He  was  a  hunchback,  and  some  of  his 
family  (who  could  not  have  understood  his  charac 
ter)  tried  to  persuade  him  not  to  assume  the  ducal 
dignity  ;  but  his  haughty  temper  soon  righted  him 
in  their  esteem,  and  it  is  said  that  all  the  courtiers 
put  on  humps  in  honor  of  the  duke.  He  was  not  a 
great  warrior,  and  there  are  few  picturesque  inci 
dents  in  his  reign.  Indeed,  nearly  the  last  of  these 
in  Mantuan  history  was  the  coronation  at  Mantua 


DUCAL   MANTUA  355 

of  the  excellent  poet  Lodovico  Ariosto,  by  Charles 
V.,  in  1532,  Federico  II.  reigning.  But  the  Man- 
tuans  of  Guglielmo's  day  were  not  without  their 
sensations,  for  three  Japanese  ambassadors  passed 
through  their  city  on  the  way  to  Rome.  They  were 
also  awakened  to  religious  zeal  by  the  reappearance 
of  Protestantism  among  them.  The  heresy  was 
happily  suppressed  by  the  Inquisition,  acting  under 
Pius  V.,  though  with  small  thanks  to  Duke  Wil 
liam,  who  seems  to  have  taken  no  fervent  part  in 
the  persecutions.  The  duke  must  have  made  haste 
after  this  to  reconcile  himself  with  the  Church  ;  for 
we  read  that  two  years  later  he  was  permitted  to 
take  a  particle  of  the  blood  of  Christ  from  the 
church  of  St.  Andrea  to  that  of  Sta.  Barbara,  where 
he  deposited  it  in  a  box  of  crystal  and  gold,  and 
caused  his  statue  to  be  placed  before  the  shrine  in 
the  act  of  adoring  the  relic. 

Duke  William  managed  his  finances  so  well  as  to 
leave  his  spendthrift  son  Vincenzo  a  large  sum 
of  money  to  make  away  with  after  his  death.  Part 
of  this,  indeed,  he  had  earned  by  obedience  to  his 
father's  wishes  in  the  article  of  matrimony.  The 
prince  was  in  love  with  the  niece  of  the  Duke  of 
Bavaria,  very  lovely  and  certainly  high-born  enough, 
but  having  unhappily  only  sixty  thousand  crowns  to 
her  portion.  So  she  was  not  to  be  thought  of,  and 
Vincenzo  married  the  sister  of  the  Duke  of  Parma, 
of  whom  he  grew  so  fond  that,  though  two  years  of 
marriage  brought  them  no  children,  he  could  scarce 
be  persuaded  to  suffer  her  divorce  on  account  of 


356  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

sterility.  This  happened,  however,  and  the  prince's 
affections  were  next  engaged  by  the  daughter  of  the 
Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany.  The  lady  had  a  portion 
of  three  hundred  thousand  crowns,  which  entirely 
charmed  the  frugal-minded  Duke  William,  and 
Vincenzo  married  her,  after  certain  diplomatic  pre 
liminaries  demanded  by  the  circumstances,  which 
scarcely  bear  statement  in  English,  and  which  the 
present  history  would  blush  to  give  even  in  Italian. 

Indeed,  he  was  a  great  beast,  this  splendid  Vin 
cenzo,  both  by  his  own  fault  and  that  of  others  ; 
but  it  ought  to  be  remembered  of  him,  that  at  his 
solicitation  the  most  clement  lord  of  Ferrara  lib 
erated  from  durance  in  the  hospital  of  St.  Anna 
his  poet  Tasso,  whom  he  had  kept  shut  in  that 
mad-house  seven  years.  On  his  delivery,  Tasso 
addressed  his  "  Discorso "  to  Vincenzo's  kinsman, 
the  learned  Cardinal  Scipio  Gonzaga  ;  and  to  this 
prelate  he  submitted  for  correction  the  "  Gerusa- 
lemme,"  as  did  Guarini  his  "  Pastor  Fido." 

When  Vincenzo  came  to  power,  he  found  a  fat 
treasury,  which  he  enjoyed  after  the  fashion  of  the 
time,  and  which,  having  a  princely  passion  for  every 
costly  pleasure,  he  soon  emptied.  He  was  crowned 
in  1587  ;  and  on  his  coronation  day  rode  through 
the  streets  throwing  gold  to  the  people,  after  the 
manner  of  the  Mantuan  dukes.  He  kept  up  an 
army  of  six  thousand  men,  among  a  population  of 
eighty  thousand  all  told  ;  and  maintained  as  his 
guard  "  fifty  archers  on  horseback,  who  also  served 
with  the  arquebuse,  and  fifty  light-horsemen  for  the 


DUCAL   MANTUA  357 

guard  of  his  own  person,  who  were  all  excellently 
mounted,  the  duke  possessing  such  a  noble  stud  of 
horses  that  he  always  had  five  hundred  at  his  ser 
vice,  and  kept  in  stable  one  hundred  and  fifty  of 
marvelous  beauty."  He  lent  the  Spanish  king  two 
hundred  thousand  pounds  out  of  his  father's  spar- 
ings  ;  and  when  the  Archduchess  of  Austria,  Mar- 
gherita,  passed  through  Mantua  on  her  way  to  wed 
Philip  II.  of  Spain,  he  gave  her  a  diamond  ring 
worth  twelve  thousand  crowns.  Next  after  women, 
he  was  madly  fond  of  the  theatre,  and  spent  im 
mense  sums  for  actors.  He  would  not,  indeed,  cede 
in  splendor  to  the  greatest  monarchs,  and  in  his 
reign  of  fifteen  years  he  squandered  fifty  million 
crowns  !  No  one  will  be  surprised  to  learn  from  a 
contemporary  writer  in  Mantua,  that  this  excellent 
prince  was  adorned  with  all  the  Christian  virtues  ; 
nor  to  be  told  by  a  later  historian,  that  in  Vin- 
cenzo's  time  Mantua  was  the  most  corrupt  city  in 
Europe.  A  satire  of  the  year  1601,  which  this 
writer  (Maffei)  reduces  to  prose,  says  of  that  pe 
riod  :  "  Everywhere  in  Mantua  are  seen  feasts, 
jousts,  masks,  banquets,  plays,  music,  balls,  delights, 
dancing.  To  these  the  young  girls,"  an  enormity 
in  Italy,  "  as  well  as  the  matrons,  go  in  magnificent 
dresses  ;  and  even  the  churches  are  scenes  of  love- 
making.  Good  mothers,  instead  of  teaching  their 
daughters  the  use  of  the  needle,  teach  them  the  arts 
of  rouging,  dressing,  singing,  and  dancing.  Naples 
and  Milan  scarcely  produce  silk  enough,  or  India 
and  Peru  gold  and  gems  enough,  to  deck  out  female 


358  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS 

impudence  and  pride.  Courtiers  and  warriors  per 
fume  themselves  as  delicately  as  ladies ;  and  even 
the  food  is  scented,  that  the  mouth  may  exhale  fra 
grance.  The  galleries  and  halls  of  the  houses  are 
painted  full  of  the  loves  of  Mars  and  Venus,  Leda 
and  the  Swan,  Jove  and  Danae,  while  the  devout 
solace  themselves  with  such  sacred  subjects  as  Su 
sannah  and  the  Elders.  The  flower  of  chastity 
seems  withered  in  Mantua.  No  longer  in  Lydia 
nor  in  Cyprus,  but  in  Mantua,  is  fixed  the  realm 
of  pleasure."  The  Mantuans  were  a  different  peo 
ple  in  the  old  republican  times,  when  a  fine  was 
imposed  for  blasphemy,  and  the  blasphemer  put  into 
a  basket  and  drowned  in  the  lake,  if  he  did  not  pay 
within  fifteen  days  ;  which  must  have  made  pro 
fanity  a  luxury  even  to  the  rich.  But  in  that  day 
a  man  had  to  pay  twenty  soldi  (seventy-five  cents) 
if  he  spoke  to  a  woman  in  church  ;  and  women 
were  not  allowed  even  the  moderate  diversion  of 
going  to  funerals,  and  could  not  wear  silk  lace  about 
the  neck,  nor  have  dresses  that  dragged  more  than 
a  yard,  nor  crowns  of  pearls  or  gems,  nor  belts 
worth  more  than  ten  livres  (twenty-five  dollars), 
nor  purses  worth  more  than  fifteen  soldi  (fifty 
cents). 

Possibly  as  an  antidote  for  the  corruption  brought 
into  the  world  with  Vincenzo,  there  was  another 
Gonzaga  born  about  the  same  period,  who  became 
in  due  time  Saint  Louis  Gonzaga,  and  remains  to 
this  day  one  of  the  most  powerful  friends  of  virtue 
to  whom  a  good  Catholic  can  pray.  He  is  particu- 


DUCAL   MANTUA  359 

larly  recommended  by  his  biographer,  the  Jesuit 
Father  Cesari,  in  cases  of  carnal  temptation,  and  im 
proving  stories  are  told  Italian  youth  of  the  miracles 
he  works  under  such  circumstances.  He  vowed 
chastity  for  his  own  part  at  an  age  when  most  chil 
dren  do  not  know  good  from  evil,  and  he  carried  the 
fulfillment  of  this  vow  to  such  extreme,  that,  being 
one  day  at  play  of  forfeits  with  other  boys  and  girls, 
and  being  required  to  kiss — not  one  of  the  little 
maidens  —  but  her  shadow  on  the  wall,  he  would 
not,  preferring  to  lose  his  pawn. 

San  Luigi  Gonzaga  descended  from  that  Ridolfo 
who  put  his  wife  to  death,  and  his  father  was  Mar 
quis  of  Castiglione  delle  Stivere.  He  was  born  in 
1568,  and,  being  the  first  son,  was  heir  to  the  mar- 
quisate  ;  but  from  his  earliest  years  he  had  a  call  to 
the  Church.  His  family  did  everything  possible  to 
dissuade  him  —  his  father  with  harshness,  and  his 
uncle,  Duke  William  of  Mantua,  with  tenderness  — 
from  his  vocation.  The  latter  even  sent  a  "  bishop 
of  rare  eloquence  "  to  labor  with  the  boy  at  Casti 
glione  ;  but  everything  was  done  in  vain.  In  due 
time  Luigi  joined  the  Company  of  Jesus,  renounced 
this  world,  and  died  at  Rome  in  the  odor  of  sanctity, 
after  doing  such  good  works  as  surprised  every  one. 
His  brother  Ridolfo  succeeded  to  the  marquisate, 
and  fell  into  a  quarrel  with  Duke  William  about 
lands,  which  dispute  Luigi  composed  before  his 
death. 

From  the  time  of  the  first  Vincenzo's  death,  there 
are  only  two  tragic  events  which  lift  the  character 


360  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

of  Mantuan  history  above  the  quality  of  cJironique 
scandaleuse,  namely,  the  Duke  Ferdinand's  repudia 
tion  of  Camilla  Faa  di  Casale,  and  the  sack  of  Man 
tua  in  1630.  The  first  of  these  events  followed 
close  upon  the  demise  of  the  splendid  Vincenzo  ;  for 
his  son  Francesco  reigned  but  a  short  time,  and 
died,  leaving  a  little  daughter  of  three  years  to  the 
guardianship  of  her  uncle,  the  Cardinal  Ferdinand. 
The  law  of  the  Mantuan  succession  excluded  fe 
males  ;  and  Ferdinand,  dispensed  from  his  ecclesi 
astical  functions  by  the  Pope,  ascended  the  ducal 
throne.  In  1615,  not  long  after  his  accession,  as 
the  chronicles  relate,  in  passing  through  a  chamber 
of  the  palace  he  saw  a  young  girl  playing  upon  a 
cithern,  and  being  himself  young,  and  of  the  ardent 
temper  of  the  Gonzagas,  he  fell  in  love  with  the  fair 
minstrel.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  noble  servant 
of  the  duke,  who  had  once  been  his  ambassador  to 
the  court  of  the  Duke  of  Savoy,  and  was  called 
Count  Ardizzo  Faa  Monferrino  di  Casale.  It  seems 
that  the  poor  girl  loved  her  ducal  wooer ;  and  be 
sides  the  ducal  crown  was  a  glittering  temptation, 
and  she  consented  to  a  marriage  which,  for  state 
and  family  reasons,  was  made  secret.  When  the 
fact  was  bruited,  it  raised  the  wrath  and  ridicule  of 
Ferdinand's  family,  and  the  duke's  sister  Margaret, 
Duchess  of  Ferrara,  had  so  lofty  a  disdain  of  his 
m/salliancc  with  an  inferior,  that  she  drove  him  to 
desperation  with  her  sarcasms.  About  this  time 
Camilla's  father  died,  with  strong  evidences  of  poi 
soning  ;  and  the  wife  being  left  helpless  and  friend- 


DUCAL   MANTUA  361 

less,  her  noble  husband  resorted  to  the  artifice  of 
feigning  that  there  had  never  been  any  marriage, 
and  thus  sought  to  appease  his  family.  Unhappily, 
however,  he  had  given  her  a  certificate  of  matri 
mony,  which  she  refused  to  surrender  when  he  put 
her  away,  so  that  the  duke,  desiring  afterwards  to 
espouse  the  daughter  of  the  Grand  Duke  of  Tus 
cany,  was  obliged  to  present  a  counterfeit  certificate 
to  his  bride,  who  believed  it  the  real  marriage  con 
tract,  and  destroyed  it.  When  the  duchess  dis 
covered  the  imposition,  she  would  not  rest  till  she 
had  wrung  the  real  document  from  Camilla,  under 
the  threat  of  putting  her  son  to  death.  The  miser 
able  mother  then  retired  to  a  convent,  and  died  of  a 
broken  heart,  while  Ferdinand  bastardized  his  only 
legitimate  son,  a  noble  boy,  whom  his  mother  had 
called  Jacinth.  After  this,  a  kind  of  retribution, 
amid  all  his  political  successes,  seems  to  have  pur 
sued  the  guilty  duke.  His  second  wife  was  too  fat 
to  bear  children,  but  not  to  bear  malice ;  and  she 
never  ceased  to  distrust  and  reproach  the  duke, 
whom  she  could  not  believe  in  anything  since  the 
affair  of  the  counterfeit  marriage  contract.  She 
was  very  religious,  and  embittered  Ferdinand's  days 
with  continued  sermons  and  reproofs,  and  made  him 
order,  in  the  merry  Mantuan  court,  all  the  devotions 
commanded  by  her  confessor. 

So  Ferdinand  died  childless,  and,  it  is  said,  in 
sore  remorse,  and  was  succeeded  in  1626  by  his 
brother  Vincenzo,  another  hope  of  the  faith  and 
light  of  the  Church.  His  brief  reign  lasted  but  one 


362  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

year,  and  was  ignoble  as  it  was  brief,  and  fitly  ended 
the  direct  line  of  the  Gonzagas.  Vincenzo,  though 
an  ecclesiastic,  never  studied  anything,  and  was  dis 
gracefully  ignorant.  Lacking  the  hereditary  love 
of  letters,  he  had  not  the  warlike  boldness  of  his 
race  ;  and  resembled  his  ancestors  only  in  the  love 
he  bore  to  horses,  hunting,  and  women.  He  was 
enamored  of  the  widow  of  one  of  his  kinsmen,  a 
woman  no  longer  young,  but  of  still  agreeable  per 
son,  strong  will,  and  quick  wit,  and  of  a  fascinating 
presence,  which  Vincenzo  could  not  resist.  He  was 
wooing  her,  with  a  view  to  seduction,  when  he  re 
ceived  the  nomination  of  cardinal  from  Pope  Paul  V. 
He  pressed  his  suit,  but  the  lady  would  consent  to 
nothing  but  marriage,  and  Vincenzo  bundled  up  the 
cardinal's  purple  and  sent  it  back,  with  a  very  care 
less  and  ill-mannered  letter,  to  the  ireful  Pope,  who 
swore  never  to  make  another  Gonzaga  cardinal.  He 
.then  married  the  widow,  but  soon  wearied  of  her, 
and  spent  the  rest  of  his  days  in  vain  attempts  to 
secure  a  divorce,  in  order  to  be  restored  to  his  eccle 
siastical  benefices.  'And  one  Christmas  morning  lie 
died  childless ;  and  three  years  later  the  famous 
sack  of  Mantua  took  place.  The  events  leading  to 
this  crime  are  part  of  one  of  the  most  complicated 
episodes  of  Italian  history. 

Ferdinand,  as  guardian  of  his  brother's  daughter 
Maria,  claimed  the  Duchy  of  Monferrato  as 'part  of 
his  dominion  ;  but  his  claim  was  disputed  by  Maria's 
grandfather,  the  Duke  of  Savoy,  who  contended  that 
it  reverted  to  him,  on  the  death  of  his  daughter,  as 


DUCAL   MANTUA  363 

a  fief  which  had  been  added  to  Mantua  merely  by 
the  intermarriage  of  the  Gonzagas  with  his  family. 
He  was  supported  in  this  claim  by  the  Spaniards, 
then  at  Milan.  The  Venetians  and  the  German 
Emperor  supported  Ferdinand,  and  the  French  ad 
vanced  the  claim  of  a  third,  a  descendant  of  Lodo- 
vico  Gonzaga,  who  had  left  Mantua  a  century  before, 
and  entered  upon  the  inheritance  of  the  Duchy  of 
Nevers-Rethel.  The  Duke  of  Savoy  was  one  of  the 
boldest  of  his  warlike  race ;  and  the  Italians  had 
great  hopes  of  him  as  one  great  enough  to  drive 
the  barbarians  out  of  Italy.  But  nearly  three  cen 
turies  more  were  wanted  to  raise  his  family  to  the 
magnitude  of  a  national  purpose  ;  and  Carlo  Eman- 
uel  spent  his  greatness  in  disputes  with  the  petty 
princes  about  him.  In  this  dispute  for  Monferrato 
he  was  worsted  ;  for  at  the  treaty  of  Pavia,  Mon 
ferrato  was  assured  to  Duke  Ferdinand  of  Mantua. 
Ferdinand  afterwards  died  without  issue,  and 
Vincenzo  likewise  died  childless  ;  and  Charles  Gon 
zaga  of  Nevers-Rethel,  who  had  married  Maria, 
Ferdinand's  ward,  became  heir  to  the  Duchy  of 
Mantua,  but  his  right  was  disputed  by  Ferrante 
Gonzaga  of  Guastalla.  Charles  hurriedly  and  half 
secretly  introduced  himself  into  Mantua  without 
consultation  with  Venetian,  Spaniard,  or  German. 
While  Duke  Olivares  of  Spain  was  meditating  his 
recognition,  his  officer  at  Milan  tried  to  seize  Man 
tua  and  failed ;  but  the  German  Emperor  had  been 
even  more  deeply  offended,  and  claimed  the  remis 
sion  of  Charles's  rights  as  a  feudatory  of  the  Roman 


364  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

Empire,  until  he  should  have  regularly  invested  him. 
Charles  prepared  for  defense.  Meanwhile  Spain 
and  Savoy  seized  Monferrato,  but  they  were  after- 
wards  defeated  by  the  French,  and  the  Spanish 
Milanese  was  overrun  by  the  Venetians  and  Man- 
tuans.  The  German  Emperor  then  sent  down  his 
Landsknechts,  and  in  1630  besieged  Mantua,  while 
the  French  promised  help  and  gave  none,  and  the 
Pope  exhorted  Charles  to  submit.  The  Venetians, 
occupied  with  the  Uskok  pirates,  could  do  little 
in  his  defense.  To  the  horrors  of  this  unequal 
and  desperate  war  were  added  those  of  famine ;  and 
the  Jews,  passing  between  the  camp  and  the  city, 
brought  a  pest  from  the  army  into  Mantua,  which 
raged  with  extraordinary  violence  among  the  hun 
gry  and  miserable  people.  In  vain  they  formed 
processions,  and  carried  the  blood  of  Christ  about 
the  city.  So  many  died  that  there  were  not  boats 
enough  to  bear  them  away  to  their  sepulture  in  the 
lakes,  and  the  bodies  rotted  in  the  streets.  There 
was  not  wanting  at  this  time  the  presence  of  a 
traitor  in  the  devoted  city,  a  lieutenant  in  the  Swiss 
Guard  of  the  duke ;  and  when  he  had  led  the  Ger 
mans  into  Mantua,  and  received  the  reward  of  his 
infamy,  two  German  soldiers,  placed  over  him  for 
his  protection,  killed  him  and  plundered  him  of  his 
spoil. 

The  sack  now  began,  and  lasted  three  days,  with 
unspeakable  horrors.  The  Germans  (then  the  most 
slavish  and  merciless  of  soldiers)  violated  Mantuan 
women,  and  buried  their  victims  alive.  The  har- 


DUCAL   MANTUA  365 

lots  of  their  camp  cast  off  their  rags,  and  robing 
themselves  in  the  richest  spoils  they  could  find, 
rioted  through  the  streets,  and  added  the  shame  of 
drunken  orgies  to  the  dreadful  scene  of  blood  and 
tears.  The  Jews  were  driven  forth  almost  naked 
from  the  Ghetto.  The  precious  monuments  of  ages 
were  destroyed  ;  or  such  as  the  fury  of  the  soldiers 
spared,  the  avarice  of  their  generals  consumed  ;  and 
pictures,  statues,  and  other  works  of  art  were  stolen 
and  carried  away.  The  churches  were  plundered, 
the  sacred  houses  of  religion  were  sacked,  and  the 
nuns  who  did  not  meet  a  worse  fate  went  begging 
through  the  streets. 

The  imperial  general,  Aldringher,  had,  immedi 
ately  upon  entering  the  city,  appropriated  the  Ducal 
Palace  to  himself  as  his  share  of  the  booty.  He 
placed  a  strong  guard  around  it,  and  spoiled  it  at 
leisure  and  systematically,  and  gained  fabulous  sums 
from  the  robbery.  After  the  sack  was  ended,  he 
levied  upon  the  population  (from  whom  his  soldiers 
had  forced  everything  that  terror  and  torture  could 
wring  from  them)  four  contributions,  amounting  to 
a  hundred  thousand  doubloons.  This  population 
had,  during  the  siege  and  sack,  been  reduced  from 
thirty  to  twelve  thousand ;  and  Aldringher  had  so 
thoroughly  accomplished  his  part  of  the  spoliation, 
that  the  Duke  Charles,  returning  after  the  with 
drawal  of  the  Germans,  could  not  find  in  the  Ducal 
Palace  so  much  as  a  bench  to  sit  upon.  He  and  his 
family  had  fled  half  naked  from  their  beds  on  the 
entry  of  the  Germans,  and,  after  a  pause  in  the 


366          ITALIAN     JOURNEYS 

citadel,  had  withdrawn  to  Ariano,  whence  the  duke 
sent  ambassadors  to  Vienna  to  expose  his  miserable 
fate  to  the  Emperor.  The  conduct  of  Aldringher 
was  severely  rebuked  at  the  capital ;  and  the  Em 
press  sent  Carlo's  wife  ten  thousand  zecchini,  with 
which  they  returned  at  length  to  Mantua.  It  is 
melancholy  to  read  how  his  neighbors  had  to  com 
passionate  his  destitution  ;  how  the  Grand  Duke  of 
Tuscany  sent  him  upholstery  for  two  state  chambers ; 
how  the  Duke  of  Parma  supplied  his  table-service ; 
how  Alfonso  of  Modena  gave  him  a  hundred  pairs 
of  oxen,  and  as  many  peasants  to  till  his  desolated 
lands.  His  people  always  looked  upon  him  with  evil 
eyes,  as  the  cause  of  their  woes ;  and  after  a  reign 
of  ten  years  he  died  of  a  broken  heart,  or,  as  some 
thought,  of  poison. 

Carlo  had  appointed  as  his  successor  his  nephew 
and  namesake,  who  succeeded  to  the  throne  ten 
years  after  his  uncle's  death,  the  Princess  Maria 
Gonzaga  being  regent  during  his  minority.  Carlo 
II.  early  manifested  the  amorous  disposition  of  his 
blood,  but  his  reign  was  not  distinguished  by  re 
markable  events.  He  was  of  imperial  politics  dur 
ing  those  interminable  French-Austrian  wars,  and 
the  French  desolated  his  dominions  more  or  less. 
In  the  time  of  this  Carlo  II.,  we  read  of  the  Jews 
being  condemned  to  pay  the  wages  of  the  duke's 
archers  for  the  extremely  improbable  crime  of  kill 
ing  some  Hebrews  who  had  been  converted  ;  and 
there  is  account  of  the  duchess  going  on  foot  to  the 
sanctuary  of  Our  Lady  of  Grace,  to  render  thanks 


DUCAL   MANTUA  367 

for  her  son's  recovery  from  a  fever,  and  her  daugh 
ter's  recovery  from  the  bite  of  a  monkey.  Mantua 
must  also  have  regained  something  of  its  former 
gayety ;  for  in  1652  the  Austrian  Archdukes  and 
the  Medici  spent  Carnival  there.  Carlo  II.  died, 
like  his  father,  with  suspicions  of  poisoning,  and 
undoubted  evidences  of  debauchery.  He  was  a  gen 
erous  and  amiable  prince  ;  and,  though  a  shameless 
profligate,  was  beloved  by  his  subjects,  with  whom, 
no  doubt,  his  profligacy  was  not  a  reproach. 

Ferdinand  Carlo,  whose  ignoble  reign  lasted  from 
1665  to  1708,  was  the  last  and  basest  of  his  race. 
The  histories  of  his  country  do  not  attribute  a  sin 
gle  virtue  to  this  unhappy  prince,  who  seems  to 
have  united  in  himself  all  the  vices  of  all  the  Gon- 
zagas.  He  was  licentious  and  depraved  as  the  first 
Vincenzo,  and  he  had  not  Vincenzo's  courage  ;  he 
was  luxurious  as  the  second  Francesco,  but  had 
none  of  his  generosity ;  he  taxed  his  people  heavily 
that  he  might  meanly  enj.oy  their  substance  without 
making  them  even  the  poor  return  of  national  glory ; 
he  was  grasping  as  Guglielmo,  but  saved  nothing  to 
the  state ;  he  was  as  timid  as  the  second  Vincenzo, 
and  yet  made  a  feint  of  making  war,  and  went  to 
Hungary  at  one  time  to  fight  against  the  Turk. 
But  he  loved  far  better  to  go  to  Venice  in  his 
gilded  barge,  and  to  spend  his  Carnivals  amid  the 
variety  of  that  city's  dissoluteness.  He  was  so  igno 
rant  as  scarcely  to  be  able  to  write  his  name  ;  but 
he  knew  all  vicious  things  from  his  cradle,  as  if,  in 
deed,  he  had  been  gifted  to  know  them  by  instinct 


368  ITALIAN   JOURNEYS 

through  the  profligacy  of  his  parents.  It  is  said 
that  even  the  degraded  Mantuans  blushed  to  be 
ruled  by  so  dull  and  ignorant  a  wretch  ;  but  in 
his  time,  nevertheless,  Mantua  was  all  rejoicings, 
promenades,  pleasure- voyages,  and  merry-makings. 
"  The  duke  recruited  women  from  every  country 
to  stock  his  palace,"  says  an  Italian  author,  "  where 
they  played,  sang,  and  made  merry  at  his  will  and 
theirs."  "In  Venice,"  says  Volta,  "he  surren 
dered  himself  to  such  diversions  without  shame,  or 
stint  of  expense.  He  not  only  took  part  in  all  pub 
lic  entertainments  and  pleasures  of  that  capital,  but 
he  held  a  most  luxurious  and  gallant  court  of  his 
own ;  and  all  night  long  his  palace  was  the  scene  of 
theatrical  representations  by  dissolute  women,  with 
music  and  banqueting,  so  that  he  had  a  worse  name 
than  Sardanapalus  of  old."  He  sneaked  away  to 
these  gross  delights  in  1700,  while  the  Emperor  was 
at  war  with  the  Spaniards,  and  left  his  duchess  (a 
brave  and  noble  woman,  the  daughter  of  Ferrante 
Gonzaga,  Duke  of  Guastalla)  to  take  care  of  the 
duchy,  then  in  great  part  occupied  by  Spanish  and 
French  forces.  This  was  the  War  of  the  Spanish 
Succession  ;  and  it  used  up  poor  Ferdinand,  who 
had  not  a  shadow  of  interest  in  it.  He  had  sold 
the  fortress  of  Casale  to  the  French  in  1681,  feign 
ing  that  they  had  taken  it  from  him  by  fraud  ;  and 
now  he  declared  that  he  was  forced  to  admit  eight 
thousand  French  and  Spanish  troops  into  Mantua. 
Perhaps  indeed  he  was,  but  the  Emperor  never 
would  believe  it ;  and  he  pronounced  Ferdinand 


DUCAL   MANTUA  369 

guilty  of  felony  against  the  Empire,  and  deposed 
him  from  his  duchy.  The  duke  appealed  against 
this  sentence  to  the  Diet  of  Ratisbon,  and,  pending 
the  Diet's  decision,  made  a  journey  of  pleasure  to 
France,  where  the  Grand  Monarch  named  him  gen 
eralissimo  of  the  French  forces  in  Italy,  though  he 
never  commanded  them.  He  came  back  to  Mantua 
after  a  little,  and  built  himself  a  splendid  theatre, 

—  the  cheerful  duke. 

But  his  end  was  near.  The  French  and  Aus- 
trians  made  peace  in  1 707  ;  and  next  year,  Monfer- 
rato  having  fallen  to  Savoy,  the  Austrians  entered 
Mantua,  whence  the  duke  promptly  fled.  The 
Austrians  marched  into  Mantua  on  the  2Qth  of  Feb 
ruary,  that  being  leap  year,  and  Ferdinand  came 
back  no  more.  Indeed,  trusting  in  false  hopes  of 
restoration  held  out  to  him  by  Venice  and  France, 
he  died  on  the  5th  of  the  July  following,  at  Padua, 

—  it  was  said  by  poison.     So  ended  Ducal  Mantua. 
The   Austrians   held   the   city   till    1797.      The 

French  Revolution  took  it  and  kept  it  till  1799,  anc^ 
then  left  it  to  the  Austrians  for  two  years.  Then 
the  Cisalpine  Republic  possessed  it  till  1802  ;  and 
then  it  was  made  part  of  the  Kingdom  of  Italy,  and 
so  continued  twelve  years  ;  after  which  it  fell  again 
to  Austria.  In  1848,  there  was  a  revolution,  and 
the  Austrian  soldiers  stole  the  precious  silver  case 
that  held  the  phial  of  the  true  blood.  Now  at  last 
it  belongs  to  the  Kingdom  of  Italy,  with  the  other 
forts  of  the  Quadrilateral,  —  thanks  to  the  Prussian 
needle-gun. 


INDEX 


ABBONDIO,  Don,  265. 

Abranelli,  Isaaco  degli,  a  Rabbin  of 
Ferrara,  22. 

Alboin,  conquers  Vicenza,  275  ;  re 
sisted  successfully  by  the  Man- 
tuans,  312. 

Aldringher,  the  imperial  general, 
sacks  Mantua,  364,  365. 

Alexander  VI.,  Pope,  holds  the 
Grand  Turk's  brother  prisoner, 

343- 

Alfieri,  Vittorio,  his  inscription  on 
Ariosto's  "  Furioso,"  24,  25;  his 
verses  in  Petrarch's  house,  208. 

Alfonso,  Duke  of  Ferrara,  his  treat 
ment  of  Tasso,  13  ;  releases  him, 

356- 

Ancangeli,  247. 

Annunziata,  Chapel  of  the,  182. 

Antonino,  boatman  at  Sorrento,  106 ; 
a  plausible  liar,  107 ;  his  subter 
fuges,  122  ;  his  disappointed  hopes 
of  plunder,  123. 

Argo,  House  of,  at  Herculaneum, 
103. 

Ariosto,  his  tomb  in  the  Library  at 
Ferrara,  23 ;  manuscript  of  his 
"Furioso,"  24;  house  of,  25,26; 
birthplace  of,  27 ;  crowned  by 
Charles  V.  at  Mantua,  355. 

Armenian  Archbishop,  his  courtesy 
on  the  day  of  the  Immaculate 
Conception,  149-151. 

Arqua,  contemplated  trip  to,  197, 
198 ;  country  near,  199,  200  ;  ap 
proach  to,  201,  2C2  ;  curiosity  of 
the  people,  203  ;  Petrarch's  house 
at,  205-210;  his  tomb  at,  210;  a 
priest  of,  211;  washerwomen  at, 


212,  213;  the  Obizzi  custode's 
opinion  of,  213. 

Asiago,  industries  of,  227. 

Attila,  his  sack  of  Padua,  179;  of 
Vicenza,  275  ;  turned  from  Man 
tua  by  Pope  Leo  I.,  311. 

Aurora,  Hall  of,  in  the  Castle  of 
the  Dukes  of  Ferrara,  29. 

Austria,  first  called  into  Italian  con 
troversies,  314. 

Avventi,  Count,  doubts  the  authen 
ticity  of  Tasso's  cell,  12. 

Baptistery,  at  Pisa,  240. 

Barbers'  signs,   become  sanguinary 

in  the  south  of  Italy,  97. 
Bassano,  sentiment  of,  218  ;  picture 

gallery  of,    253  ;    school  in,  253, 

254  ;  inn  at,  258,  259. 
Bastianlno,  his  Last  Judgment,  20. 
Battaglia,    village    on   the  road   to 

Arqua,  200. 
Beatrice,  sister  of  Ecelino  and  wife 

of  Sordello,  320. 
Blind  man,  at  the  Duomo  in  Genoa, 

52- 

Blue  Grotto,  at  Capri,  entrance, 
117;  its  appearance,  120,  121. 

Boccaccio,  decides  for  literature  at 
Virgil's  tomb,  73. 

Bologna,  journey  to,  delayed,  38-40 ; 
gloominess  of,  42. 

Bonacolsi,  a  ruling  family  of  Man 
tua,  322-325. 

Bonacolsi,  Bordellone,  322. 

Bonacolsi,  Francesco,  offends  the 
Gonzagas,  323;  slain,  325. 

Bonacolsi,  Guido  Botticella,  332. 

Bonacolsi.     Passerine,    captain     of 


372 


INDEX 


Mantua,  made  Vicar  of  Modena, 
323;  overthrown  and  killed,  324, 

325- 

Bonacolsi,  Pinamonte,  seizes  the 
government  of  Mantua,  322. 

Bonato,  Count  Giovanni,  custodian 
of  the  cave  at  Oliero,  219 :  conver 
sation  and  deportment,  230. 

Boniface,  first  lord  of  Mantua  under 
the  Emperor,  313;  attacks  Ve 
rona,  314;  finds  the  sacred  relics)- 

3'5- 

Bora,  fierce  wind  at  Trieste,  243. 

Borgia,  Lucrezia,  story  of  her  ven 
geance  upon  the  Venetians,  15. 

Brenta  River,  219,  255. 

Brick,  alias  Lazzaretti,  a  guide  to 
Fozza,  222,  223. 

Byron,  Lord,  his  conduct  at  Tasso's 
cell,  ii  ;  house  at  Genoa  occu 
pied  by,  51. 

Cambray,  League  of,  342. 

Campagna,  the,  a  stroll  upon,  146- 
148. 

Campo  Santo,  at  Pisa,  238,  239; 
chain  returned  by  the  Genoese  in, 
239, 240  and  note;  at  Vicenza,  279. 

Canova,  edifice  with  which  he  hon 
ored  Possagno,  259,  260 ;  his 
niece,  260;  legends  of  his  begin 
nings,  261 ;  house  of,  262  ;  his 
work  in  Parma,  298. 

Capo  di  Monte,  palace  of,  75. 

Capri,  hiring  of  a  boat  to,  106 ; 
arrival  at,  107 ;  Hotel  di  Londra 
at,  1 08 ;  accent  of  the  Capriotes, 
no;  ruins  of  Tiberius's  palace, 
115  ;  the  Blue  Grotto,  120,  121. 

Captain  of  the  steamer  to  Naples, 
57 ;  suggests  a  cause  of  the  Civil 
War,  58. 

Capulets,  house  of  the,  286. 

Caracci,  praises  Correggio's  As 
sumption,  295  ;  work  by  him  in 
Parma,  298. 

Carlo  Emanuel,  Duke  of  Savoy, 
claims  Monferrato,  363. 


Carmagnola,  a  Venetian  leader,  330. 

Casale,  Bishop  of,  considers  Ro 
mano's  style  conformable  to  his 
life,  347. 

Castellamare,  105;  cripple  at,  123. 

Castello  di  Corte,  at  Mantua,  built 
by  Luigi  Gonzaga,  328  ;  hall  de 
corated  by  Mantegna  in,  superb 
Gothic  front,  334. 

Castiglione,  Count  Baldassare, 
training  and  early  career,  345  ; 
services  to  Mantua,  345,  346 ; 
dies  in  Spain,  346. 

Catacombs  of  St.  Sebastian,  136. 

Cavajlerizza,  at  Mantua,  337. 

Cecilia  da  Baone,  trouble  over  her 
marriage,  256 ;  divorces  and  re 
marriages,  257. 

Cento,  caffe'  at,  40 ;  excellent  pic 
ture  gallery  at,  41. 

Cesari,  Father,  biographer  of  St. 
Louis  Gonzaga,  359. 

Cesarotti,  his  verses  in  Petrarch's 
house  and  Alfieri's  opinion  of,  208. 

Cestius,  Caius,  pyramid  of,  144. 

Charlemagne,  divides  Mantuan  lands 
among  his  soldiers,  312,  313. 

Charles  V.,  Emperor,  makes  Fede- 
rico  II.  Duke  of  Mantua,  344  ; 
crowns  the  poet  Ariosto,  355. 

Charles  VIII.  of  France,  defeated  at 
Taro,  341. 

Cimbri,  descendants  of  Rome's  foes 
still  in  Northern  Italy,  217;  their 
former  customs,  226 ;  language 
and  occupations,  227  ;  their  cus 
toms  and  origin  according  to 
Rose,  227,  228  note. 

Circeo,  Mont,  64. 

Clock  Tower  of  Vicenza,  274. 

Colico,  hot  and  unhealthy,  267,  268. 

Coliseum,  unsatisfactory,  128,  129. 
139 ;  compared  to  the  arena  at 
Verona,  282. 

Columbus,  ugly  statue  of,  in  Genoa, 

44- 

Como,  approach  to,  265  :  town  of, 
266  ;  departure  from,  266,  267. 


INDEX 


373 


Como,  Lake,  row  upon,  266 ;  the 
sail  up,  266  ;  stop  at  Colico,  267- 
269  ;  return  to  Como,  269,  270. 

Conservatorio  delle  Mendicant!  at 
Rome,  129;  a  visit  to,  130-133; 
life  at,  132,  134. 

Consuls,  difficulty  of  finding  Amer 
ican,  in  foreign  cities,  45,  46. 

Corke,  Lord,  his  account  of  the 
sights  of  Parma,  294. 

Correggio,  his  Assumption  at 
Parma,  294,  295 ;  his  fresco  in 
the  Monastero  di  San  Paolo,  296 ; 
other  work  of  his,  298  ;  influence 
on  painting  in  Parma,  347. 

Corso,  the,  at  Rome,  139. 

Cosmo  II.  de'  Medici,  Farnese  The 
atre  built  for,  299. 

Costanza,  treaty  of,  318. 

"  Courtier,  The,"  written  by  Casti- 
glione,  345. 

Cunizza,  entitled  to  Paradise,  320 ; 
her  amour  with  Sordello,  320. 

Dall'  Ongaro,  his   remark    on    the 

Bora,  243. 
Dante,  his  account  of  the  founding 

of  Mantua,  303. 

Dickens,   Charles,  place  where   he 
•     lived  in  Genoa,  51. 
Diligence,   chosen   as   a    means   of 

transport   from    Rome,  159-161  ; 

disadvantages    of,   162-166;    tips 

over,  167-170;  more  satisfactory 

than  the  steamer,  172. 
Diomed,  Hotel,  at  Pompeii,  79,  93. 
Donatello,  his  marble  Trojan  horse, 

179. 

Dossi,  Dosso,  frescoes  of,  31. 

Ducal  Palace  at  Mantua,  begun  by 
Gianfrancesco  Gonzaga,  331  ;  Giu- 
lio  Romano's  work  in.  335  ;  hang 
ing  gardens  in,  336  ;  Hall  of  the 
Rivers,  336. 

Ecelino  Balbo,  procures  Cecilia  da 

Baone  for  his  son,  256. 
Ecelino  da  Romano,  his  career  and 


death,  185,  186;  prisons  of,  187; 
realistic  representations  of  his 
tortures,  188-190;  the  prisons  an 
imposture,  192 ;  rules  Vicenza, 
275  ;  besieges  Mantua,  319. 

Ecelino  il  Monaco,  his  injustice  to 
his  wife  Cecilia,  257. 

Este,  Niccolb  d',  began  the  castle  of 
Ferrara,  28  note. 

Europe,  is  material,  6. 

Faa  di  Casale,  Camilla,  marries  the 
Duke  of  Mantua  and  is  repudi 
ated,  360,  361. 

Facchini  in  Italy,  rapacious  but  in 
teresting,  235,  236. 

Famine,  Tower  of,  237. 

Farnese  Theatre,  in  Parma,  299, 
300. 

Fedeli,  of  Mantua,  340. 

Feelmore,  Moshu  (Fillmore),  presi 
dent  of  the  United  States,  anec 
dote  of,  at  the  Baptistery  in  Pisa, 
241. 

Ferrara,  sights  in,  connected  with 
Tasso,  9-14  ;  palace  of  Lucrezia 
Borgia  in,  15;  sketch  of  her  his 
tory,  17;  lack  of  activity  in,  19; 
cathedral  at,  20  ;  the  Ghetto  in, 
22  ;  relics  of  Ariosto,  23-27 ;  cas 
tle  of  the  Dukes  of,  27-32  ;  devo 
tion  and  society  in,  32 ;  depar 
ture  from,  38-40. 

Follonica,  incidents  of  the  journey 
to,  159-172. 

Forum,  the  Roman,  ruins  of,  dis 
appointing,  128. 

Fozza,  village  of,  224 ;  Capo-gente 
of,  225  ;  the  people  of,  described, 
226 ;  the  hermit  of,  228,  229 ;  the 
descent  from,  229. 

Frederick  Barbarossa,  ruins  in  the 
Blue  Grotto  at  Capri  attributed 
to,  121  ;  burns  Vicenza,  275  ;  plans 
the  enslavement  of  Italy  at  Ron- 
caglia,  318. 

Frederick  II.,  invades  Lombardy, 
318- 


374 


INDEX 


Garibaldi,  loved  by  all  Italians,  58  ; 
statuette  of,  in  Naples,  75  ;  his 
longing  for  Venice,  265. 

Gauls,  drive  the  Etruscans  from 
Mantua,  310. 

Geese,  the  honest  man's  recipe  for 
making  soup  from,  8. 

Genoa,  incidents  of  the  journey 
thence,  42,  43;  statue  of  Colum 
bus  at,  44 ;  search  for  the  consul 
at,  47 ;  streets  in,  48 ;  fashions 
and  dress,  49,  50 ;  its  magnifi 
cence,  51  ;  the  Duomo  at,  52; 
palace  of  the  Doges,  53  ;  sea  voy 
age  from,  to  Naples,  57-64. 

Germans,  invade  Lombardy  under 
Frederick  II.,  318. 

Giotto,  pictures  at  St.  Anthony's, 
Padua,  attributed  to,  181. 

Giovanni  da  Verona,  intagli  by,  in 
Verona,  292. 

Gonzagas,  splendor  of  Mantua  be 
gins  with  their  accession,  327 ; 
the  succession  of,  328 ;  their 
reigns,  328-334,  338-344,  353- 

369- 

Gonzaga,  Barbara,  wife  of  Ludovico, 
protects  her  son  from  his  father, 

33S-34°- 

Gonzaga,  Carlo,  ransomed  by  his 
brother,  338. 

Gonzaga,  Charles,  of  Nevers-Rethel, 
Duke  of  Mantua,  marries  Maria 
Gonzaga  and  succeeds  to  Man 
tua,  363;  driven  out  at  the  sack 
of  the  city,  365,  366  ;  returns,  366. 

Gonzaga,  Charles  (Carlo)  II.,  Duke 
of  Mantua,  his  reign,  366,  367. 

Gonzaga,  Federico,  banished  by  his 
father,  338  ;  cared  for  in  Naples, 
339  ;  marries  as  his  father  wishes, 
340;  his  short  reign,  341. 

Gonzaga,  Federico  II.,  extends  the 
Mantuan  dominions  and  made 
Duke  by  Charles  V.,  344  ;  sends 
Castiglione  ambassador  to  Rome, 
345 ;  welcomes  Giulio  Romano  to 
Mantua,  346. 


Gonzaga,  Ferdinand,  Cardinal  then 

Duke  of  Mantua,  his  treatment  of 

his  wife,  360,  361. 
Gonzaga,   Ferdinand  Carlo,    Duke 

of  Mantua,  last  and  basest  of  the 

Gonzagas,  367-369. 
Gonzaga,    Ferrante,    of   Guastalla, 

claims  Mantua,  363  ;  his  daughter 

the  wife  of  Ferdinand  Carlo,  368. 
Gonzaga,    Filippino,    trouble    with 

Passerine's  son  over  his  wife,  323, 

324- 

Gonzaga,  Francesco,  Captain  of 
Mantua,  his  continual  wars  with 
the  Visconti  of  Milan,  329,  330. 

Gonzaga,  Francesco,  Marquis  of 
Mantua,  hunter  and  soldier,  leads 
the  Venetian  armies,  341  ;  and 
those  of  the  League  of  Cambray, 
342  ;  does  the  Grand  Turk  a  kind 
ness,  342,  343  ;  dies,  344  ;  brings 
Castiglione  back  to  Mantua,  345. 

Gonzaga,  Francesco,  second  Duke 
of  Mantua,  described,  354. 

Gonzaga,  Francesco,  fifth  Duke  of 
Mantua,  360. 

Gonzaga,  Gianfrancesco,  first  Mar 
quis  of  Mantua,  leads  Venetian 
armies,  330  ;  at  the  tournament 
in  San  Marco,  331 ;  poisoned, 

33'- 

Gonzaga,  Guglielmo,  Duke  of  Man 
tua,  his  character,  354 ;  religion 
and  ability,  355. 

Gonzaga,  Guido,  shares  his  domain 
with  his  son,  328. 

Gonzaga,  Ludovico,  a  peaceful  ruler, 

328- 

Gonzaga,  Ludovico,  "il  Turco," 
his  training,  332  ;  encourages  the 
arts  at  Mantua,  333  ;  picks  out  a 
wife  for  his  son,  338  ;  displeasure 
at  his  refusal,  339 ;  the  matter 
settled,  340. 

Gonzaga,  Luigi,  overthrows  Pas- 
serino,  324,  325  ;  made  lord  of 
Mantua,  325  ;  his  castle,  326  ;  his 
reign,  328. 


INDEX 


375 


Gonzaga,  San  Luigi,  his  virtues  and 
ancestry,  358,  359. 

Gonzaga,  Maria,  left  to  the  care  of 
her  uncle,  Cardinal  Ferdinand, 
360 ;  claim  to  Monferrato  through, 
362,  363 ;  marries  Charles  Gon 
zaga  of  Nevers-Rethel,  363 ;  re 
turns  to  Mantua  after  the  sack  of 
1630,  366. 

Gonzaga,  Scipio,  Cardinal,  356. 

Gonzaga,  Vincenzo,  fourth  Duke  of 
Mantua,  his  marriages,  355,  356: 
squanders  his  fortune,  356,  357. 

Gonzaga,  Vincenzo, seventh  Duke  of 
Mantua,  ignoble  and  ignorant,  362. 

Goths,  take  Mantua,  311. 

Governo,  place  where  Leo  I.  turned 
Attila  back,  31 1« 

Grand  Turk,  anecdote  of  the  rela 
tions  of  Francesco  Gonzaga  to, 

342,  343- 
Greeks,   hold  Mantua  for  a  while, 

312. 
Grossetto,  small  town  on  the  road 

to   Leghorn,    155-158;    cause   of 

the  stop  there,  170. 
Guercino,  41. 

Guglielmo  da  Castelbarco,  289. 
Guide-book,  an    animated,    in    the 

cabin  of  the  Naples  steamer,  60. 

Henry  I.,  makes  Vicenza  an  im 
perial  city,  275. 

Henry  IV.,  the  Emperor,  displaces 
Matilda  of  Mantua,  315,  316. 

Herculaneum,  road  to,  95  ;  the  thea 
tre  and  the  beautiful  works  of  art 
found  there,  99  ;  exhumed  portion 
of,  100  ;  its  mournful  aspect,  102  ; 
houses  of  Argo  and  Perseus,  103, 
104. 

Hercules,  Cardinal,  his  able  govern 
ment,  353. 

Hugo  and  Parisina,  their  prisons, 
29. 

Isoletta,  beggar  boy  of,  127. 
Italians,  the  only  honest  specimen, 


6 ;  their  love  of  Garibaldi,  58 ; 
converse  on  the  subject  of  sea 
sickness,  63 ;  dress  beyond  their 
means,  71 ;  simple,  natural  folks, 

76,  77- 

Italy,  strong  municipal  spirit  in,  7  ; 
authenticity  of  sights  in,  ques 
tioned,  13  ;  present  literary  work 
in,  unsatisfactory,  33  ;  courtesy  of 
the  army  officers,  34-37 ;  robbed 
of  its  romance  by  travellers,  134. 

Jesuits,  accused  of  causing  the 
American  Civil  War,  58,  59. 

"Judgment  of  Paris,"  a  fresco  at 
Pompeii,  89-91. 

Juliet's  Tomb,  in  Verona,  287. 

Julius  II.,  Pope,  makes  Gonzaga 
leader  of  the  Papal  armies,  342. 

Keats,  John,  his  grave  in  Rome, 
I43-I45- 

Lamartine,  his  name  in  Tasso's  cell, 
IT. 

Laschi  monument,  279. 

Lasells,  Richard,  Gent.,  his  account 
of  the  sights  of  Parma,  294. 

Lazzaretti,  alias  Briick,  a  guide  to 
Fozza,  222,  223. 

Leaning  Tower  of  Pisa,  237. 

Legnano,  battle  of,  318. 

Leo  I.,  turns  back  Attila,  311. 

Leoni,  F.,  his  "Life  of  Petrarch," 
with  its  account  of  the  attempt  to 
steal  the  poet's  body,  210,  211. 

Lombards,  their  control  of  Mantua, 
312. 

Lombard  League,  beats  the  Em 
peror  at  Legnano,  318. 

Longinus,  story  of,  310,  311. 

Maccaroni,  making  of,  96,  97. 

Malatesta,  in  a  fit  of  anger,  orders 
the  destruction  of  Virgil's  statue 
at  Mantua,  332. 

Malatesta,  Margherita,  wife  of  Fran 
cesco  Gonzaga,  330. 


376 


INDEX 


Manfredo,  Count  of  Baone  and 
Abano,  256. 

Mantegna,  work  of,  at  Verona,  292  ; 
life  and  work  at  Mantua,  334. 

Manto,  a  Theban  sorceress,  the  le 
gendary  founder  of  Mantua,  303, 

3°4- 

Mantua,  stories  of  the  founding  of, 
303,  304 ;  journey  to,  305,  306 ; 
fortifications  of,  307  ;  general  at 
mosphere  of,  308  ;  history  during 
the  Roman  period,  310-312;  un 
der  the  Lombards,  312;  under 
Charlemagne,  312,  313  ;  under  the 
German  Emperors,  313-316  ;  un 
der  republican  governments,  316- 
322  ;  ruled  by  the  Bonacolsi  fam 
ily,  322-325  ;  the  Gonzagas  seize 
control,  325  ;  state  of  the  city  at 
that  time,  326,  327  ;  under  the 
Gonzaga  captains,  328-330 ;  be 
comes  subject  to  the  Roman  Em 
perors  when  Gianfrancesco  Gon 
zaga  became  a  marquis,  333 ;  pros 
perity  of,  under  II  Turco,  333 ; 
Castello  di  Corte  at,  334 ;  the 
Ducal  Palace,  335  ;  breed  of  Man- 
tuan  horses  begun,  341  ;  church  of 
Our  Lady  of  Victory  built,  343 ; 
reaches  its  largest  area  under  the 
first  Duke,  344 ;  work  of  Giulio 
Romano  in,  346-350 ;  the  Palazzo 
del  T,  347-350  ;  the  washerwomen 
of,  351,  352  ;  corruption  in,  under 
Vincenzo,  357,  358;  sacked  by 
the  Germans  in  1630,  364,  365  ; 
the  Austrian*  take  possession, 

369- 
Maremma,  group  representing  the, 

157. 
Margherita,  Archduchess  of  Austria, 

357- 
Margherita,    of    Bavaria,    wife    of 

Federico  Gonzaga,  338,  340. 
Maria  Louisa,  Napoleon's  wife,  her 

charitable  and  artistic  work  for 

Parma,  298. 
Martin  I.,  tomb  of,  290. 


Martinelli,  Tommaso,  attempts  to 

steal  Petrarch's  bones,  211. 
Matilda,   Countess  of   Mantua,  her 

career,  315,  316. 
Maximilian,  Archduke,  247. 
Milan,  hot  and  bustling,  264 ;  Cas- 

tiglione  trained  at,  346. 
Miramare,  Castle  of,  247. 
Modena,  cruelty  of  the  vicar  Pas- 

serino  in,  323. 
Mondo,  II,  the  good  inn  at  Bassano, 

258. 
Monferrato,    Duchy   of,    added    to 

Mantua,  344  ;  quarrel  over,  362, 

363. 
Monga,  the  Italian  gentleman  who 

excavated  the  Roman  theatre  at 

Verona,  284. 
Monte-Cassino,  Benedictine  convent 

of,  125,  126. 
Monte  Rosa,  265. 
Monteroglio,  battle  near,  323. 
Morgan,  Lady,  her  emotions  on  visit 
ing  Tasso's  cell,  12. 
Muletresses,  in  Capri,  109. 
Muratori,  characterizes  the  Petrarch 

relics  as  "  superstitions,"  209. 
Museo  Civico,  at  Vicenza,  279. 
Mutinelli,  quoted,  331. 
Mythology,  its  effect  on  Christian 

art,  349,  350. 

Names,  writing  of,  in  public  places, 
206. 

Naples,  arrival  in,  64 ;  boat  and 
other  charges,  65,  66  ;  the  Toledo, 
67 ;  peasant  costumes  and  man 
ners,  68,  69;  display  upon  the 
Toledo,  70  ;  Virgil's  tomb,  72,  73 ; 
churches  of,  uninteresting,  74 ; 
Spanish  tyranny  in.  75  ;  bay  of, 
78 ;  shipping  district  of,  95,  96 ; 
English  names  in,  97  ;  final  depar 
ture  from,  124. 

Norton,  Mr.,  his  account  of  the 
chain  at  Pisa,  240  note. 

Obizzi,  Castle  of,  213. 


INDEX 


377 


Ocno,  King,  an  Etruscan,  reputed 
to  be  the  founder  of  Mantua, 

3°4- 

Officers,  of  the  Italian  army,  their 
kindness,  34 ;  anecdotes  of,  34- 

37- 

Old  gentleman,  who  supped  on  sar 
dines  and  pie,  55  ;  a  little  sea 
sick,  56. 

Oliero,  cave  at,  219,  255. 

Our  Lady  of  Victory,  Church  of,  at 
Mantua,  343. 

Overbeck,  pleasure  of  looking  at  his 
paintings,  146. 

P ,  Signer,  remarkable  curiosi 
ties  in  his  house  at  Padua,  186, 
187 ;  his  realistic  restoration  of 
Ecelino's  prison,  188-190. 

Padrocchi's,  the  great  caffe  of 
Padua,  191. 

Padua,  sights  of,  1 75  ;  a  walk  on  the 
wall,  176;  historic  attacks  on, 
177,  179;  old  fruit  venders,  178; 
university  of,  180  ;  architecture  of, 
181 ;  carriage  drives  in,  182,  183. 

Palazzo  del  T,  suggested,  346  ;  is 
Romano's  great  architectural 
work,  347 ;  location  bad,  348 ; 
paintings  there,  349. 

Palladio,  born  in  Vicenza,  273 ; 
theatre  built  by,  280,  281  ;  his  in 
fluence  on  art  in  Vicenza,  347. 

Pantheon,  fails  to  impress  one,  129; 
tribulation  of  its  sacristan,  148, 
149. 

Parisina  and  Hugo,  their  prisons, 
29. 

Parma,  its  regularity  characteristic 
of  the  ducal  cities,  293 ;  work  of 
Correggio  in,  294-296  ;  people  of, 
297  ;  sundry  works  of  art  at,  298  ; 
the  Farnese  Theatre,  299 ;  in 
fluence  of  Correggio  on  painting 
there,  347. 

Pannigianino,  his  "  Moses  breaking 
the  Tables  "  and  other  work  in 
Parma,  298,  299. 


Pasquino,  148. 

Petrarch,  approach  to  his  house  at 
Arqua,  202 ;  tablet  to,  203 ;  his 
house,  205-208 ;  words  at  the 
close  of  his  autobiography,  209, 
210;  his  tomb,  210;  Florentine 
attempt  to  steal  his  bones,  210, 
211  ;  received  with  high  honor  by 
Luigi  Gonzaga,  Captain  of  Man 
tua,  328. 

Piazza  Bra,  283. 

Piazza  San  Marco,  tournament  in, 

331- 

Piazza  Virgiliana,  353. 

Pico,  Francesco,  starved  in  a  tower 
by  Passerino,  323. 

Pilate,  stairs  from  his  house,  138. 

Pisa,  a  beautiful  old  town,  236 ;  the 
Duomo,  237  ;  the  Leaning  Tower, 
238  ;  the  Campo  Santo,  238,  239 ; 
the  Baptistery,  240;  the  howling 
ciceroni  of,  241. 

Pisano,  Nicolb,  sculptures  of,  240. 

Politian,  composed  "  Orfeo "  at 
Mantua,  333. 

Pompeii,  guides  in,  79 ;  slow  pro 
gress  of  excavation,  So ;  disap 
pointment  at  its  ruined  condition, 
8 1 ;  fields  above  the  still  buried 
part,  84,  85  ;  the  amphitheatre, 
86 ;  plans  of  the  houses,  87 ;  mo 
saics  and  frescoes  at,  88-92 ; 
moulds  of  the  human  bodies  in, 
92. 

Pompey,  Theatre  of,  139. 

Ponte,  Jacopo  da,  252. 

Pope,  conducts  services  at  the  Sis- 
tine  Chapel,  151. 

Portici,  vileness  of  the  road  to,  98  ; 
the  town  itself,  98. 

Porto  Longone,  61,  62. 

Posilippo,  Grot  of,  71,  72. 

Possagno,  the  village,  259  ;  memorial 
edifice  erected  by  Canova,  260 ; 
gallery  at,  261. 

Prato  della  Valle,  at  Padua,  180. 

Printing  office,  first  one  established 
at  Mantua,  333. 


378 


INDEX 


Psyche,  chamber  of,  at  the  Palazzo 
del  T,  349. 

Ranuzio    I.,    builds    the     Farnese 

Theatre  in  Parma,  299. 
Rappaccini,  Doctor,  his  garden,  175, 

176. 
Reggio,  courtesy  of  Italian  officers 

at,  34- 

Rende,  Marchioness,  of  Ferrara, 
converted  by  Calvin,  30,  31. 

Rienzi,  house  of,  139. 

Romanino,  picture  at  Santa  Gius- 
tina  by,  183 ;  four  horrible  pic 
tures  by,  in  Verona,  292. 

Romano,  Giulio,  his  work  at  Man 
tua,  335  ;  plans  the  Cavallerizza, 
337 ;  comes  to  Mantua,  346 ;  his 
influence  on  the  art  there,  346, 
347 ;  generally  useful,  347 ;  his 
great  architectural  work,  347,  348  ; 
paintings  there,  349 ;  his  house, 

351- 

Romans,  their  government  of  Man 
tua,  310,  311. 

Rome,  the  shortest  road  to,  3  ;  jour 
ney  to,  from  Naples,  125-127; 
the  modern  city  hideous,  129; 
changes  in  to  catch  American 
travellers,  135  ;  malaria  in,  138  ; 
dirty  street  in,  139;  as  viewed 
from  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  141 ; 
tourists  in,  142. 

Roncaglia,  Diet  at,  317,  318. 

Rose,  an  English  traveller,  describes 
the  customs  and  origin  of  the 
Cimbri,  227,  228  note. 

Rovere,  Gian  Delia,  robs  the  Turk 
ish  Ambassador,  342,  343. 

Rovigo,  the  home  of  the  only  honest 
man  in  Italy,  7 ;  swindled  at  the 
Iron  Crown  in,  8. 

Rudolph,  Emperor,  pillages  Man 
tua,  313. 

St.  Anna,  hospital  of,  where  Tasso 

was  confined,  9. 
St.  Anthony's,  at  Padua,  181. 


St.  John  Lateran,  relics  in  the 
church  of,  1 38. 

St.  Peter's,  church  of,  not  necessary 
to  go  to  the  top,  140  ;  its  vast- 
ness,  141. 

St.  Sebastian,  Catacombs  of,  136; 
relics  in  the  church  of,  137. 

San  Germano,  Benedictine  convent 
at,  125. 

San  Giorgio  Maggiore,  at  Verona, 
292. 

San  Paolo,  Monastero  di,  206. 

San  Paolo  fuori  le  Mura,  its  splen 
dor,  143. 

San  Sebastian,  palace  of,  at  Mantua* 
334- 

San  Zenone,  in  Verona,  289  ;  sacris 
tan  at,  292. 

Sanbonifazio,  Count,  Cunizza?s  hus 
band,  320. 

Santa  Giustina,  church  and  prison 
of,  183  ;  relics  of,  184. 

Santa  Maria,  in  Organo,  292. 

Sanvitali,  Countess,  lives  in  Parma, 
298. 

Scala,  Can  Grande  della,  helps  over 
throw  Passerine  at  Mantua,  324  ; 
his  reward,  325 ;  wants  more, 

328- 

Scaliger,  John,  290. 

Scaligeri,  tombs  of,  at  Verona,  290, 
291. 

Scaramello,  murderer  of  Martin  I.. 
290. 

Seafarers,  curious  people,  48  ;  treat 
ment  of,  in  Naples,  95,  96. 

Sette  Communi,  217:  adventurous 
road  to,  221,  222  ;  the  village  of 
Fozza,  224 ;  language  and  cus 
toms,  226,  227  ;  return  from,  229, 
230. 

Shelley,  Percy  Bysshe,  his  grave 
near  Rome,  144. 

Sigismund,  Emperor,  makes  Fran 
cesco  Gonzaga  a  marquis,  330. 

Sistine  Chapel,  services  in,  150. 

Smoking,  by  Italian  women,  37. 

Somersault  girl  in  Genoa,  53. 


INDEX 


379 


Sordello,  poet  and  knight  of  Mantua, 
319,  320 ;  his  amour  with  Cu- 
nizza,  320,  321  ;  his  military  abil 
ity,  321. 

Sorrento,  trip  to,  105 ;  return  to, 
from  Capri,  122. 

Spain,  her  tyranny  in  Naples,  75. 

Spalato,  glories  of,  rehearsed  by  two 
priests,  126. 

Spinabello  da  Xendrico,  guardian 
of  Cecilia  da  Baone,  256,  257. 

Spliigen  Pass,  269. 

Stella  d'  Oro,  hotel  in  Ferrara,  9,  34. 

Swiss  family  returning  from  Russia, 

5- 
Swiss  Guards  of  the  Pope,  151. 

Tarantella,  danced  near  Capri,  112. 

Tarpeian  Rocks,  two  of  them,  140. 

Tasso,  hospital  of  St.  Anna  where 
he  was  confined,  9  ;  his  cell,  10  ; 
doubts  of  its  authenticity,  12,  13  ; 
manuscripts  of,  24  ;  house  of,  in 
Sorrento,  122  ;  released  by  inter 
cession  of  the  Duke  of  Mantua, 

356. 

Teatro  Sociale,  at  Padua,  193. 

Theodoric,  founds  the  Basilica  of 
Vicenza,  274. 

Tiberius,  ascent  to  palaces  of,  in 
Capri,  109 ;  inn  near  the  ruins, 
112;  anecdotes  of,  113,  114;  con 
dition  of  the  ruins,  115  ;  possible 
baths  of,  1 20  ;  possible  ruins  of  his 
works  in  the  Blue  Grotto,  121. 

Tintoretto,  work  by,  in  Verona, 
292 ;  his  influence  in  Venice,  346. 

Tiso  da  Camposampiero,  rejected 
suitor  of  Cecilia  da  Baone,  256  ; 
his  revenge  on  her,  257. 

Titian,  his  influence  in  Venice,  346. 

Toledo,  the  main  street  of  Naples, 
67,  70. 

Tortona,  Tommaso  da,  his  fate,  28 
note. 

Treviso,  town  and  duomo,  262,  263. 

Trieste,  arrival  at,  242  ;  clean  and 
full  of  life,  243  ;  the  peasant  girls 


of,  244 ;  confusion  of  races  and 
tongues,  245  ;  history,  246 ;  ob 
jects  of  interest,  247  ;  finding  the 
steamer  to  Venice,  248,  249. 

Urbino,  Dukes  of,  Castiglione  em 
ployed  by,  345. 

Valery,  his  account  of  Byron's  visit 
to  Tasso's  cell,  n  ;  of  the  Ariosto 
MS.,  24  ;  mentions  the  society  of 
Ferrara,  32  ;  mentions  Boccaccio's 
decision  at  Virgil's  tomb,  73 ; 
statements  about  the  baths  and 
ruins  at  the  Blue  Grotto,  120, 121. 

Valstagna,  beginning  of  the  mule 
ride  to  the  Sette  Communi,  220. 

Vandals,  sack  Mantua,  311. 

Vela,  Laschi  monument  by,  279. 

Venice,  departure  from,  3  ;  Lucrezia 
Borgia's  vengeance  for  an  insult 
in,  15  ;  compared  to  Genoa,  51 ; 
approach  to  from  Trieste,  251 ; 
compared  to  Milan,  264,  265  ;  her 
armies  led  by  Gonzaga,  Marquis 
of  Mantua,  330 ;  tournament  at, 
in  1414,  331 ;  influence  of  Titian 
and  Tintoretto  in,  346. 

Ventisei,  a  guide  at   Pompeii,  79, 

93- 

Verci,  his  opinion  of  Sordello,  321. 

Vergognosa,  238. 

Verona,  arena  in,  compared  to  the 
Coliseum,  282  ;  its  perfect  preser 
vation,  282,  283  ;  Roman  theatres 
at,  284,  285  ;  house  of  the  Capu- 
lets,  286  ;  picturesque  features, . 
288  ;  Gothic  spirit  in  the  archi 
tecture  of,  289 ;  tombs  of  the 
Scaligeri,  290,  291  ;  churches  of, 
292  ;  is  sacked  by  the  Mantuans, 
3H- 

Veronese,  work  by,  at  San  Giorgio 
Maggiore,  Verona,  292. 

Vesuvius,  64,  78. 

Vetturini,  in  Italy,  rapacious  but 
interesting,  235,  236. 

Vicenza,  objects  of  interest,  274 ;  his- 


380 


INDEX 


tory,  275  ;  demonstration  against 
Austria  in  the  opera  house,  276- 
278;  excellent  Hotel  de  la  Ville 
at,  278  ;  Museo  Civico  and  the 
Campo  Santo,  279 ;  theatre  at, 
built  for  Greek  tragedy,  280,  281 ; 
influence  of  Palladio  in,  347. 

Victor  Emanuel,  and  the  howling 
ciceroni  of  Pisa,  241. 

Villa  Reale,  in  Naples,  71,  76. 

Villafranca,  306. 

Virgil,    tonib  of,  72,    73;    lives   at 


Mantua,  310;  his  statue  at  Man 
tua  destroyed,  331,  332. 

Virginia,  little  girl  at  the  Roman 
Conservatorio,  130,  131  ;  photo 
graphed,  133. 

Visconti,  Barnabo,  330. 

Volta,  a  Mantuan  historian,  his 
opinion  of  Sordello,  321. 

Washington,     George,    statue     so 

named,  261. 
\Yinkclmann,  247. 


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